


The Redemption of Gideon Grey

by YFWE



Series: The Redemption Series [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 102,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YFWE/pseuds/YFWE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Zootopia is an exceptionally lovely movie, so I wrote a fanfic about it. I'm very much new to this website, but I've heard nothing but lovely things about it.
> 
> I wanted to give some face time to good ol' Gideon Grey, our early antagonist-turned-regular Mary Berry before our very eyes, while also including Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps like the stupidly enjoyable cop partnership and newfound behemoth of Tumblr shipping they are. So here, check this out, maybe you'll like?
> 
> A quick note: this prologue happens within the timeframe of the movie, specifically after the meeting Judy and Gideon have as kids but before she leaves Bunnyburrow on her way to Zootopia. The rest of the story following the prologue shall take place after the events of the movie entirely. Basically, just understand that Gideon done learned to bake real good by this point, but he and Judy's parents haven't struck up their partnership just yet.

Prologue

 

His instructions were to leave the pies on the doorstep, and that suited Gideon Grey just fine.

Not that he normally went out of his way to avoid people; no, he was friendly, if not sociable back around the stretch of acreage where his kith and kin had lived for who knew how long, possibly ever since his kind first arose from those darker, more primitive times. Those green rolling hills where the honeysuckle mingled with the plentiful apple and grape crop had always been home, and he was proud to call it that, the place where the foxes outside Bunnyburrow made their claim to a nice, hard-earned living in a conciliatory world.

But outside that little world of his, well, things were not always hunky-dory. Though relations seemed to thaw, ever so slightly, with each passing harvest, the predator-prey dichotomy had not quite healed, and he could never quite find himself becoming remotely friendly with the animals his kind used to hunt, let alone develop a budding friendship. No fault of his nowadays and certainly none of theirs; it simply was not the way things befell Bunnyburrow and its surrounding countryside - not like Zootopia, where, he heard, all lived harmoniously.

The problem was that the long, dirt clod-ridden driveway onto which he was pulling his refurbished, reclaimed red truck with his name plastered prominently in white letters across its side happened to belong to a rabbit.

Gideon's truck rumbled down the dusty ground, easing in and out of the tiny potholes that dotted its surface. His red-furred paws drummed against the cool black wheel anxiously as the fox squinted his eyes against the sunset -flooded horizon to find the home, a quaint, two-story tan farmhouse with red curtains drawn over its double-hung windows. There was no one else in sight, though a green pickup truck lingered outside a red shack of a barn out back.

Nothing out of the ordinary; with the directions he was supplied, Gideon doubted he would encounter another soul during this, the first delivery of his burgeoning bakery business.

Well, first _major_ delivery, at least. It was customary anywhere for the family and friends of an up-and-coming entrepreneur to sample the fruit of his or her labors, especially when that fruit was quite literally that - blueberries, apples, peaches, you name it, a teenaged Gideon Grey baked it into a crusty pastry, one which became more and more delectable as time went on. At first, his exploits were humored by his parents, cousins, various aunts and uncles, the neighbors and so on. But soon enough, he had developed quite the knack for baking, and now, a young fox looking to make his own way in the world, he had his potential stipend - if, of course, the _others_ liked what he had to offer.

And that brought him there, to 133 Whitehare Lane, longtime residence of the Thumpers, who took up Gideon on his buy-one-get-one-free offer for a new customer, provided he, again, delivered the pastries to the front stoop of the house. There would be a Clawber Girl chewing tobacco tin outside the door, and his payment would be inside. Sorry for the unwelcoming disposition - we're usually not like this, you know, but we'll be out in the fields all day, and Pa doesn't like a distraction. You understand.

Gideon did understand, though as he neared the home, rumbling past rows upon rows of tomato plants, he could not quite shake his apprehension - and not just because of it being his first real sale.

He knew the Thumpers quite well, after all.

Back in his youth, when he attended school in Bunnyburrow - the only non-segregated schoolhouse for miles around, where his kind could mingle with the bunnies and sheep and other non-carnivores of the farmland - the fox was not quite an affable, friend-making kit who made the decision to allow all mammals at the school seem worthwhile. He had picked on his share of those who were perhaps once less fortunate in the food chain hierarchy than he, chief among them the Thumpers' young sons and daughters plus the Hopps girl who lived a little ways down the road. "Ya little dullard," his mother used to scold him when she caught wind of his bullying via the schoolteacher, an opossum named Miss Bush - who became a frequent caller and later a dear friend of the family because of her constant visits about the boy, but that was another story entirely.

Come to think of it, Gideon could not remember the last time he had seen any of the Thumper family; he had stayed mostly on the family farm after school and did not venture too far into town except on important occasions. He thought he had heard that the offspring nearest him in age - Blake, Bernice, Billy and Belle - had too stayed home, largely to care for their younger siblings still in school to that day. He scoffed at the farmhouse's size in that case; tight fit, he reckoned, though rabbits always seemed to make it work somehow.

Absentmindedly his steering wheel drumming intensified. Did they forgive him for what he had done as a pup? Did it even matter nowadays or was it water under the bridge? He had rehearsed a speech a few times should he and any of his unlucky prey ever cross paths again - it was bound to happen eventually - but he was never quite satisfied with the result. The amateur psychologist in him had chalked up his spotted past to the self-doubt he felt as a youngster, as many youth do at various points in their formative years, and that he had responded with anger, sometimes violence. He could never decide if it was a worthwhile explanation.

By the time his mind wandered back to the present, there he was, Gideon Grey, about to leave his first delivery on the Thumper homestead doorstep, having parked the truck a ways toward the road, gathered the pair of pies - both cherry - out of the back and made his way up the well-worn walkway that led to the front door. A porch swing lilted in the slight, cool fall breeze, its creaking the only sound he could pick up aside from the rustling of leaves in the crop fields surrounding him.

Like before, no one was in sight. Fleetingly Gideon thought he might have seen one of the curtains of the second-floor windows sway as though moved by some force, but even if it had, he thought little of it; it was entirely possible the Thumpers still had some young ones who would be undoubtedly curious to see what was being delivered and by whom. Even if it was a fox doing the delivery, these were not the dark times in which Gideon's ancestors and, certainly, Blake, Bernice, Billy and Belle's forerunners had once resided. There was Zootopia, after all, right?

After setting down the pies, Gideon's brow furrowed as he searched for the tobacco tin. Ah, there it was - just to the right of the front step, implanted into a bed of soil pregnant with sunflowers. The lid was off. Gideon peered inside and saw, to his surprise, not cash or coin, but, seemingly, a note.

Tentatively he reached a paw into the shiny cylinder and pulled out the piece of paper within. Yes, it was a note, and not perhaps one of those new-fangled bank notes or checks he had heard about but his family refused to use.

Its message held but one word: duck.

But Gideon had no time to do so, not even to consider whether the word referred to a bird or if he was supposed to cower in place, for not long after he had unfurled the paper from the tin did something impact his left forearm, exploding on contact and squirting a wet, seedy juice onto his light pink apron and plaid short-sleeved shirt, bits caking the white fur of his chin.

Dazed briefly out of surprise more than anything, the fox put a paw to his chin, brushing the remnants of whatever hit him onto his tongue. Its taste was unmistakable: tomato, no doubt about it.

And unlike the first, the next actually hit its mark, colliding with the right side of his head.

A low cry of alarm to emit from Gideon's muzzle following the second tomato - and yes, it was certainly another tomato, what with the abundance of red that he wiped quickly out of his eyes and which splattered against the porch before him. He raised his arms to his head instinctively, bowing vaguely with his head darting about, left to right and back again, at attention in case of another attack.

"Lookit what the cat dragged in, if that ain't Gideon Grey!"

The voice came from his right, the side with the much better aim. Though he worried it would leave him open to an assault from his left or somewhere else, the fox turned, perhaps against his better judgment, to find a beige-haired rabbit with that lazy eye he always used to love singling out when they went to school together: Blake Thumper. Beside him was Belle, flanking her older brother with an armful of tomatoes from their family's bountiful field at the ready.

Blake's gaze, even his not-so-good eye, burned with a triumphant, biting aversion under which Gideon could only cringe. Belle - he remembered her being quite the athlete in the schoolyard, perhaps hence her impeccable aim, the fox recalled - stood stoic, her eyes darting briefly to a spot behind Gideon, where he imagined more of her family stood at the ready.

"Got some nerve showin' your face 'round here, ya reckon?" Blake bellowed, taking few steps closer to the cowering fox. "Least of all after what you did back in school."

"Hadn't heard the name Gideon Grey in years," Belle added, her voice dripping with hostility. "Figured you packed up n' stayed home after nearly flunkin' outta school. Sure as heck didn't expect to see a business card, to tell the truth."

Gideon, breathing a little heavier still from the initial shock of the assailment, mustered up the courage to speak at last, taking one long, deep breath after Belle had finished talking herself. "Blake, Belle, I... I just wanted to apologize for how I be-"

Two more tomatoes splattered against the back of his shirt, catching him mid-rehearsed-sentence. Gideon whirled around and saw Billy and Bernice, among them at least half a dozen of the family's younger children, most of whom he did not recall ever meeting but scowled at him, distrusting, ears raised, all the same.

"Save the speech, fox," called Blake, shaking his head and grinning. "You don't get the liberty this time 'round."

"I... look, yer mom, she placed the order, look, I had no..."

Expectantly, Gideon glanced over at the pickup truck, still in its same old spot before the barn, and then to the house itself. He managed to steal a quick look at, indeed, the Thumpers' mother, gazing out solemnly from one of the upper windows. The moment their eyes met, the older rabbit, chin up, disappeared behind the red curtains.

"Really think we'd do business with a fox, Gideon?" asked Belle. "Can you _get_ this dumb? Didn't think it was possible, even for a bumpkin like yourself."

"Naw," Blake began, sniffing once and rubbing his nose against his hand, "maybe some other parts're willin' to move on, maybe Zootopia's got that thing where all the prey and the predators live in armory or whatever the heck they call it, but we got a bone to pick with you."

This time, Gideon managed to evade the tomato launched from behind by one of the younger bunnies, but in doing so left him vulnerable to another shot from Belle, which caught him square in the jaw. The force brought the fox to one knee, and he grimaced through the sting it wrought, not even bothering in the moment to wipe the splatter from his fur, lips and teeth.

"That's for Judy Hopps, by the way," Belle said shortly. "Sure she'd want a piece of you after all this time if she hadn't gone off to be a big city cop at their academy, prob'ly gonna bust your kind each n' every day."

The beleaguered fox's mind drifted back to the apology he had rehearsed, the one that he meant with every fiber of his being, his sincere wish that everything could be fine between past tormenter and tormented. But he thought better of it as the throbbing ache of their last projectile seeped back into the front of his psyche. Not today, not here, not them. It was time to go.

Gideon pushed himself back up onto two legs and, brushing off his sullied apron with a quick paw flick, darted toward his truck, fumbling in his pocket to locate the keys. He found them in quick succession - at least something had gone right - and, after wrenching open the driver-side door, stabbed vainly at the ignition until he felt the one for his vehicle slide in brusquely.

He sighed aloud and started the motor, which purred to life effortlessly after all the work he and his father had taken to revitalize it. Paws back on the steering wheel, drumming, drumming.

"Here, have this partin' gift!"

He glanced up just in time to see another object coming his way - but not a flurry of tomatoes as expected or even a singular one. No, Blake and Belle had dashed to the front doorstep, whereupon each picked up the cherry pies over which Gideon had labored with particular care - first paying customer outside the usual folk, after all.

And both were now on a collision course with his windshield, and though Gideon tried to throw the truck into reverse and back out of their way, it was all in vain, and soon the glass before him was covered in red paste and bits of baked dough.

He had thought to install windshield wipers just days before, thankfully - at his mother's behest, in case he had to make deliveries in the rain - and their first test worked without fail, to Gideon's relief, as he peeled out of the dirt driveway and back onto the main road. The click-clack of the fox's steering wheel drumming slowly subsided, replaced with deep sobs of frustration and hurt, as the red truck with Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff on its side sped away from Bunnyburrow, back toward home.


	2. The Chief's Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little light on Gideon here, but this should be the only time that happens all story.
> 
> A disclaimer I think is important to add: the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival, at which much of this story is set, is not the same event as the one at the beginning of the Zootopia film itself. The distinction is important because of how each event has proceeded historically and, more specifically, who it allows to attend. I don't recall the name of the film's fair/festival but some of the synopses I read characterized it as a county fair, rather than a Bunnyburrow-specific event. 
> 
> I'll stop there because I don't want to talk through the entire plot of this chapter, but again, I thought it an important thing to point out, because as you'll see, it's a potential gray area otherwise.

An invitation to Chief Bogo's office was usually not cause for any concern for Judy Hopps, but it had never happened so early in the day -- as in, before the day even began, really.

The rabbit cop, the Zootopia Police Department's very first of her kind and heretofore only, had arrived her customary half hour early and was on her way to the bullpen to grab a coffee, arrange her case files and maybe chat for a moment or two with the other early arriving officers -- ha, like that last part was going to happen! -- before resigning to tap her foot impatiently at the ZPD's front entrance waiting for her partner Nick Wilde to arrive, probably with barely a minute to spare before Bogo's morning briefing.

But she never got there. Clawhauser, perhaps the only non-senior officer to precede her arrival each morning, caught her attention immediately.

"Oh, hey, uh, Judy?" the cheetah called the moment she set paw inside the grand main entrance. "The chief wants to see you...."

"Mornin', Clawhauser! After the morning meeting, I presume?" Judy was already on her way toward the bullpen, barely stealing a glance at her co-worker, who had just dunked a white-glazed, sprinkled donut into his pick-me-up coffee.

"Nononono," he replied, waving his outstretched paws, "not in there, not in there. Chief Bogo said he wanted you in his office before the meeting."

Judy stopped, and her ears furled down against her back. "That's... weird. What's up?"

Clawhauser clicked his tongue and shrugged. "Oh, you know Chief, never too descriptive in passing conversation, that fella. All I've got to go off is," and he straightened his spine, clenched his firsts and leered straight ahead, certainly far above Judy's line of sight, "Hopps, office, instead of the morning meeting, am I clear?" He had attempted a gruff, Bogo-esque inflection, though it mainly suited to make Clawhauser sound as though a donut had lodged itself halfway down his windpipe -- which Judy would not rule out, either.

She paused there for a moment, staring past Clawhauser toward the police chief's second-floor office, the door to which was uncharacteristically wide open -- though that probably had all to do with him expecting her company.

A thought crossed her mind. "Clawhauser," she said finally, "will Nick be there?"

"Didn't get that directive but I'll let you know if I do," he said, pointing at his cell phone, which sat astride the department hotline phone. Frankly, most of Clawhauser's texts consisted almost solely of emoji, so she was curious to see what he came up with.

The bunny nodded her thanks and head toward the curved staircase that led to the second floor, which held many employees' offices (if they were fortunate enough to have one). Not having Nick around did not faze Judy too much; after all, she found it quite possible that her partner's down-to-the-second arrival window might preclude his attendance, since he probably would not show up for another 25 minutes or so. Perhaps whatever she was meant to discuss with Bogo was to trickle down to the fox via her, yes, she would go with that.

So imagine Judy's surprise when she entered into an empty office. All of Bogo's things were there -- his morning coat, reading glasses, even a coffee cup half-filled with the brown, no-longer-steaming liquid -- but no police chief himself.

Judy thought hard -- was she supposed to just go in? Sit down? Shut the door? Tentatively she turned back to Clawhauser and his central desk for potential guidance, but he was fielding a phone call, indisposed. 

So she decided to sit, but kept the door open; if this was Chief's way of saying welcome, I'll be up in a moment, touch anything and you die, she did not want to impose.

Except he did not show, at least not for quite some time. A ticking clock, clicking like a metronome above the doorframe, was the only sound within the office, with the clatter of arriving officers raising a vague din outside. She craned her ears to listen for Nick's blasé morning greeting to Clawhauser -- usually something about the cheetah looking like he had lost a few pounds, which was almost never the case -- before ribbing Judy after her daily scolding for nearly being late, again, before walking to the bullpen. But even that familiarity never came.

By the time the morning meeting usually began, Judy was still alone, but at least a buzz from her cell phone strapped to her utility belt had snapped her into focus. She pawed at the screen to unlock and open the message she had received. It was from Nick, and it consisted explicitly of two question marks.

"Bogo's office," she typed back. "Don't know why."

"Told you taking a little home from each of those drug busts was going to catch up to you, Carrots. Was it worth it?"

Judy smirked; Nick's nonchalant attitude about the situation calmed her nerves a bit. If she had done something terribly wrong, which was a scenario that had seeped into her conscience with every moment spent in solitude, surely at least Nick would have known by now.

A few minutes later she recognized the unmistakable sound of the bullpen door opening -- it had this creak to it, especially when it dragged against the tiled floor in one spot, so one could not miss it -- and she heard the voices of her compatriots as they ambled out to their daily duties. Presently Judy wondered what would happen to hers; earlier in the week, she and Nick had been tasked with a checkup on a particularly seedy area of Tundra Town that had been known to harbor wanted criminals of Zootopia and beyond but had since cleaned up its act -- or so stated the report of the city councilman representing the district. Nothing found to suggest otherwise so far, but Judy had a feeling about the blue-tapestried side wall in the Fishermen's Inn & Pub that she wanted to investigate further that day, barring any other dire assignments.

Her daydream breaching the subject -- maybe they could get some of those totally-terrible-for-you seafood surprises on a stick that Nick enjoyed so much -- left the rabbit unaware of the patter of footsteps moving up the stairway outside, so she was caught a little off-guard when Chief Bogo finally entered his office; she barely even registered his short, curt offer of, "Hopps."

Immediately her gaze snapped to attention as she straightened her back up the chair against which she had been slouched. "Sir!"

Bogo lumbered to the seat behind his own desk, glancing at Judy and then past her before sitting. She learned why shortly after, when a screeching sound not unlike that which the bullpen door would make came from behind, before long materializing in the form of the other chair in the room that normally sat in the far corner. With a grunt, Nick Wilde clambered onto the chair and reclined against its hardwood back and muttered, "No, that's fine, I'll get it." Without looking, he flicked a paw against Judy's shoulder in greeting.

If the chief heard the fox, he did not register it with even the most flippant of retorts; his line of sight was already focused on a stack of papers that he rustled to the center of his desk.

Adjusting his reading glasses, he spoke without looking up at his two newer officers. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Hopps. I moved directly into our morning staff meeting after another with our mayor plus the one from... what was the town... Bunnyburrow?"

Judy's heart skipped a beat, perhaps more, at the mention of her hometown. "S-sir? Bunnyburrow? Is everything--"

"Quite fine, quite fine," the buffalo boomed, raising a hoof reassuringly. "Things seem to be well, in fact. I hear there's a festival about to start...?"

"Oh, yes! The Fall Harvest Festival! I've been going since I was a little girl -- well, I always went because my parents were vendors, so I sorta had to be there, but it's so much fun, there's music, lots of food, games..."

She trailed off, realizing Bogo was not looking for such a lengthy description, evidenced by his apathetic glare.

"Save it for Yelp, honey," Nick said, snickering, beside her, thumbing through his phone to find the app. "Want me to rate it five stars for ya, or does the porta-potty situation get a little too dire by the end of the weekend?"

"Shush, Wilde," countered Bogo. "Well, Hopps, it so happens that a few weeks ago, Mayor Cotton from Bunnyburrow got in contact with the city seeing if we could provide a little assistance on the... security side of things. I guess the surrounding towns were going to be of little help, so the mayor took her problem to the tip-top."

"Security? You mean like police?" Judy asked, cocking her head to the left. "I mean, Bunnyburrow has a constable. Or it did. Is Skip Clover still around?"

"As I understand it, Mr. Clover is also the master of ceremonies?"

"Well, yeah, he probably cared more about it than his job any day, but that hasn't stopped him in the past."

Chief Bogo nodded. "I'm sure, but your little town get-together had a bit of a catch as far as attendance, didn't it?"

"No predators," Judy breathed, her enthusiasm for the festival suddenly deflated as she stole a quick side-glance at Nick. "Yeah."

"So the bunnies kept the foxes from the fall harvest," Nick said, grinning. "So what? Heck, if your family's fall crop is anything like those blueberries, I can't say I blame 'em. More for the little guy."

It was clear he was trying to cheer up his partner despite an uncomfortable situation in the form of yet another prey-predator segregation, one Judy had never really even considered. Sure, Bunnyburrow had the all-mammal schoolhouse, and some of the other town functions invited everyone, but the Fall Harvest Festival, though she never quite framed it in her mind that way, had always been an exclusionary affair. After all, she reckoned half the town still carried fox repellant; had Judy not befriended a predator herself, her parents would probably still do the same.

"Not anymore," said Bogo shortly. "This year is open to anyone who wishes to attend. In fact, I hear Hopps' parents were among those who led the charge to make it inclusionary."

"Ah, well, that's great!" Nick remarked, landing a light punch to Judy's right shoulder. "Be the change, or whatever on earth they say."

Judy glanced up at the chief. "So... where do we come in?"

"Well," Bogo started, his hoof stroking his chin, "here's the deal: this move to an all-mammal festival probably won't sit well with the entire community, as Mayor Cotton explained. But she couldn't convince Mr. Clover to focus solely on policing the festival, either. Now, when it came across our desks at the all-precinct meeting a few weeks back, I didn't think much of it and I certainly wasn't planning on taking any of my cops off the beat -- Zootopia's finest, I always say, after all. But I saw the name of your hometown, Hopps, and, well..."

"Aw, Chief, this really is too sweet," Nick said, clasping together his paws before wiping an invisible tear from his eye.

"...I thought it best that one of their own oversee the policing effort. Not just because it's your birthplace, but... well, can you imagine me, or even one of the elephants, going? Even one of the smaller wolves towers over most of you rabbits. Doesn't exactly paint a picture of an easygoing festival with some giant buffalo looming in the corner and watching for wrongdoing, despite how much I'd like to try one of these blueberries Wilde won't shut up about."

"Would make a hound dog go straight, cross my heart," laughed Nick, reclining with his arms behind his head. "OK, so you want Hopps to hang out with her old friends for a few days and make sure everyone gets along. Where do I come in?"

Chief Bogo looked down at the paperwork before him, pointing at the first page with a pen. "Well, instead of keeping the academy cadets down on the farm for eight or nine months, the mayor had the idea of plucking one or two a month and having them shadow the real deal a few days a week so they're not so dumbfounded once they graduate and get into the field, which I hear was becoming a problem -- hogwash if you ask me; I'm not here to hold anyone's paw for six months until they can prove they're competent. Anyway, one of them is joining our precinct, and originally I thought you, Wilde, would have the honor of taking on the little bugger while your partner was out of town."

Nick could only shudder at the thought and the responsibility that came from it.

"That is, until the meeting this morning with the mayors," Bogo continued. "They requested another officer. I guess setup's begun, and there's a little tension from some of the more... traditional types, I suppose. And since, after Hopps, I'm still somehow staffed with the next smallest mammal on the entire force, the fox is off the hook... this time."

Judy's eyes lit up. "Yeah, plus there's a ton of foxes in my area who're probably coming to this festival now that it's open to anyone. Nick, remember Gideon Grey, the baker I told you about who makes pies with my parents now? Bet he'd show up. Anyway, I'll bet a team like us that represents both sides would be way more effective than just another bunny. They've got plenty of those."

Bogo nodded once and spread his arms wide. "That settles it, then. Normally I wouldn't want to give up two of my better officers, but it's been quiet lately, hasn't it? You two will be granted paid leave to act as Bunnyburrow's de facto law enforcement starting tomorrow until week's end. Objections?"

"Absolutely not!" Judy exclaimed, mouth open in a wide grin. She looked over expectantly at Nick, who had an inquisitive look about him, as though he was trying to solve a math equation in his head.

Finally, he snapped back to reality and, after considering Judy beside him for a moment, smirked. "Sure. Eat food, make sure the townsfolk don't hurl pitchforks at each other, meet the parents. Sounds like a thrill."

The rabbit cocked her head at her partner. Meet her parents? Well, sure, that was a given, right? What exactly did he mean...?

Nick could sense her sideways glance and shook his head with a 'tsk.' "What, is somebunny nervous? This is a big step for us, Judes. I'll break out the suit and tie."

"Not that I want to interrupt this... moment you're having," Bogo cut in, clearly intending to do just that, "but on the topic of clothing: it's requested that you go plainclothes for this assignment. This is meant to be a very informal weekend, and it likely wouldn't fit the air of the ceremony."

"Noted," Judy said, turning back to her boss. "So, when do we leave?"

"This afternoon," Bogo replied quickly, getting up to leave. "Don't worry, your Tundra Town assignment will be here when you get back. Or perhaps I'll send the intern out there. Probably won't screw up the case files any more than Wilde has."

"That was fish sauce, sir, and you could still read the writing just fine."

"Chief Bogo, if you do send someone out there, tell them about the blue tapestry in the Fishermen's Inn --"

But the chief was out the door, and soon after, so were they.

xXxXxXx

By the time Judy and Nick saw each other again, they were on separate platforms of the main train station in City Center, the fox decked out in his familiar green shirt, blue tie and gray pants combo she had not seen him wear in quite some time; most of their time spent together these days was in uniform, after all. For fun, he had wrapped a light scarf around his head and slid on his sunglasses, lugging a suitcase tightly in one paw and maintaining the scarf with the other. 

"Nick, you look like you're about 80, and you know it," called Judy with a laugh. "Also, that's the wrong platform, and, again, you know it."

"No, dearie, you see, I can't hear you very well, but I'm on my way to... oh, whatdotheycallit, Foxglove, Foxgrove, Fox-something," he muttered, having lost the crowing elderly voice he had put on for the show. "Civilized folk there, yes, they don't let the prey mingle with our kind there, just like I like it."

Judy rolled her eyes. "Nick, you dumb fox, come on, get over here. Train's about to leave."

Nick clambered onto the empty train track that separated them, taking care to skip over the electrified rail while discarding the scarf in the process -- it was not his; someone probably not far removed from his impersonation must have left it there earlier. Tossing his suitcase onto the platform ridge, he hauled himself up, stood and stretched. "Good, because I need some shut-eye," he said with a yawn. "We're just blowing through naptime today, aren't we?"

"You mean the nap you take in the squad car when we're doing our rounds each afternoon that I don't tell the chief about?"

"Those aren't documented in the daily paperwork, Carrots, so I challenge you to find some evidence." He added another yawn on top of it before winking.

A few minutes later, the waiting train opened its doors for now passengers. The two officers stowed their belongings in one of the luggage hatches near the front of the train before Judy took Nick's paw and led him to the observation deck above, much like the one she had watched, bright-eyed, from when she first arrived in the city that had changed her life.

"They check this thing for leaks, right?" Nick asked once they were upstairs, knocking on the glass. "I hear it'll rain on ya in the rainforest district."

"Wouldn't want to get your delicate little fur wet," countered Judy, making a little pouty face at the fox, who rolled his eyes with a smile and looked upward at the station's mighty architecture before they rolled away.

They moved in silence for some time, with a jaguar mother and her child nearby, the young one pointing eagerly at the passing and widely varying shifts in terrain, the only noise otherwise. Judy smiled at them and thought of her own siblings, who she would get to see for the first time in a few months; her parents still called at least once a week, so that was different, but she was looking forward to surprising the younger ones especially. 

"So, tell me about this Gideon Grey guy you mentioned back at the precinct," Nick said finally.

Judy glanced over at the fox, who had taken a seat nearby as the train sped out of Zootopia and into the outlying areas. "He's the pie-baking fox," she said. "The one that helped me realize the night howlers were flowers, not wolves. Remember?"

"Aha," Nick nodded, his eyes fixed on Judy, grinning. "So tell me, is he the reason you have such impeccable taste in friends, or was I the first to truly take the lady's breath away?"

She laughed abruptly. "Oh, no, Gideon's part of the reason my parents raised me to be so distrusting of foxes, actually. He's the one who slashed my cheek when we were younger. Then I guess he mellowed out as an adult."

"Only eyes for me, then," Nick said with that continued smile. "Good to know I don't have any sort of competition from the similar gene pool."

Judy felt herself blush. "Nick, what on earth are you getting at?"

Their eyes met only briefly beneath the swiftly moving white clouds and blue sky above them, and fleetingly Judy thought Nick's expression might betray some sort of ulterior motive before the fox began to burst out laughing, holding a paw against the glass window while another cradled his belly. "Carrots, you are just too easy to mess with today!" he exclaimed with a few more deep laughs. "Can't wait to ask your parents if it was always this simple."

And after a few moments, he added, "Interested in meeting this Gideon, too. We of the small vulpine variety gotta stick together, and if he's a miracle worker at baking like I'm hearing, I'm gonna butter him up and get him to bake me four or five to haul back home at the end of this trip."

As the train paced toward their final destination, stopping here and there to let out passengers destined toward closer-situated towns and cities than Bunnyburrow, presently Judy did wonder about Gideon, and how he was doing in town. One fox had become her best friend in this world; she wondered how the other was faring, especially with her parents as partners, in a world outside Zootopia that she hoped was much less prejudiced than it once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: OK, so I totally have been trying to change the names of different things as they come up in order to seem fitting to an animal-run world rather than a human one, but come on, Yelp would totally be called the same thing in Zootopia. Wonder if Nick's old pawpsicle biz was on there.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback so far. Great website! Glad to be here.


	3. The Reunion of One Gideon Grey, Fox, with One Judy Hopps, Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

They heard the chanting even before the train had arrived in the station.

Judy Hopps could not discern what was being said, or perhaps shouted, but it was a chant, no doubt. It penetrated the previously quiet, comfy interior of their compartment, which before then had merely emitted the dull purr of the electrified train as it rolled placidly over the track that led to Bunnyburrow and beyond. 

Minutes prior, a PA announcement confirmed their imminent arrival to the rabbit's hometown, and the din outside followed soon after, growing, rising, becoming more and more perceptible as Judy felt the brakes at long last applied, slowing the train to a diminutive crawl as the little yellow-and-blue station came into view from the side window amid the rolling hills of the countryside into which Bunnyburrow had been built.

"Oh, good, a welcoming party," Nick Wilde, rising from a brief nap, said with a pronounced yawn. "They seem elated."

"I don't think that's for us," Judy noted back, squinting her eyes against the mid-afternoon sun that brazenly reflected off the glass side window. "There's no one on the platform."

Or at least there was no crowd there; a little ways ahead, Judy could make out a lone bunny couple near where passengers would disembark, arms around each other, clearly the welcoming party for an arriving, perhaps long-traveled family member or acquaintance -- not her parents, certainly; the train's arrival coincided with their last-minute preparations for the week-ending festival, as excited as they were to see her. And anyway, she knew the way home like the back of her paw.

"Ah. That's because they're over by that building," Nick pointed out, placing one paw on her head to swivel gently it to her left, the other gesturing toward a two-story brick building with a cream-colored roof: the mayor's office, as well as the rest of the Bunnyburrow City Hall, such as it was.

And outside was where Judy finally saw them: a gathering of a dozen, perhaps. Maybe a few more; her vantage point was not completely clear. Some brandished what looked to be homemade signs, while others simply raised balled fists or cupped their mouths to magnify their voices. A protest, no doubt. Not unruly -- not yet -- but a protest all the same.

"What'd you do, Carrots? Tell 'em you were bringing a fox home?" Nick had his typical sly grin, though its width was noticeably lesser than usual.

"No, but I've got a feeling they're not gonna enjoy seeing you, either," Judy murmured. For a transient moment she could make out the writing on one of the messages. In big, cutesy letters, against a pink poster board cutout, it read, unmistakably, "No predators, no problems."

Nick scoffed. "Direct, but doesn't quite have that ring to it, you know?"

The bunny managed a smirk through her palpable frustration. "When Chief Bogo assigned us here, he made it sound like... like, I dunno, there were just a few odd birds annoyed that they were letting predators in."

"Looks that way to me," Nick added, peering through the window at the gathering outside the office, which was tougher to see as the train pulled farther away, into the Bunnyburrow station.

"We don't know that there aren't more."

"Well, true, and you know what they say -- sometimes it ain't about what you shout or who shouts it, but how loud you do it."

A loud puff of expelled air signified the train's arrival, and with two dings, the side doors slid open. Nick and Judy gathered their belongings from the luggage hold and stepped out into the sunlit platform and the comfortable gust of wind that snaked over it. 

Behind her, Judy heard a deep inhalation of breath, followed by a contented sigh, from her partner. "So this is what us city slickers have been missing all this time, eh, Judes?" Nick hummed, his usual near-impenetrable wall of sarcastic lethargy brought down by the unambiguous delight spread across his face. "Fresh air. You know, the Rainforest District's good for a deep breath here and there, but I'll tell ya, this is golden."

Judy had to admit, she enjoyed it too. It was easy to forget certain simple pleasures when rarely leaving a few-mile radius for months and months on end, such was the case in Zootopia. One of those was the air quality. No smog -- not anymore, anyway; those were the '90s -- but the freshness was scintillating all the same in comparison.

She set down her green suitcase of clothes, toiletries and other miscellaneous necessities and adjusted the collar of the pink flannel she had donned in place of her usual blue uniform before retaining a firmer grip on her luggage, her other paw reaching for her phone in her back jeans pocket. She tapped out a quick text to her parents informing them of her arrival, the couple from farther down the platform brushing past with a young bunny seemingly fresh off a first solo trip to the big city and eager to tell the tales of his stay. Twisting around once she was done, Judy found Nick's nose buried in his own phone, sunglasses pulled down over his eyes, and smiled.

"Ready to make Bunnyburrow a better place?" 

"Define 'better,' sweetie," the fox responded, neglecting to move his phone even an inch.

"Well, I got an email from Chief while we were on the train. Mayor Cotton wants to meet us before tomorrow."

"Ah."

"...meaning we'll need to hit up her office, where all those protesters are," Judy said matter-of-factly, though she was not quite thrilled at the prospect either.

"Hmm, good," Nick mumbled, slipping his cell into his own pocket, pausing and then giving a quick shrug and a toothy grin. "Try to make sure I don't say anything stupid to the commoners, officer."

"Sure thing, fellow officer."

The path from the train station to the mayor's office -- as well as the main drag of Bunnyburrow proper -- was dusty and uneven at first, but it soon turned into a smoothed-out surface straddled on either side by well-kept sidewalks. 

Beyond the town headquarters, other downtown buildings rose to meet one another in an endearingly cobbled-together atmosphere, as though no one quite knew where the main road was going to be when they built, leading to an uneven array of houses, barns, sheds, first-floor commercial with second-floor apartment, probably 20 in all, before the road spun off into the countryside.

Nick marveled at the quaintness of it all, certainly compared to the high rises and many-storied communal spaces or apartments to which he was accustomed in Zootopia. It felt not unlike one of the neighborhoods within a specific city district, one with its own daily grind, own people, own defining characteristics, the kind that realtors might use to jack up the rent and toss in a certain inescapable chain coffee place or two.

Oh, and of course there was the crowd of screaming protesters out front of the mayor’s office.

One had seen them approach. She was a tiny rabbit, though unmistakably adult. Her arms lifted the pink sign they had spotted from the train – “No predators, no problems.” Judy, however, had not caught her eye; the bunny noticed that the demonstrator’s attention was set solely on the upcoming fox. 

Up until then, the small group’s mantra had been easy to follow: “Protect our own! Keep the savages out!” But as soon as the pink-signed picketer laid eyes on Nick and shouldered the sheep beside her, and so and so forth, a great cacophony rose from the picket line, their voices raised in such discordance that not a single thread of thought could be distinguished. Judy winced. She knew some of these people. Yes, yes, that was the mother of one of her former classmates, her deer face coiled into a harsh snarl. There was Mr. Fisher – Judy did not know his first name, just that he ran a truck repair in town. Even a rabbit who could barely be a teenager if at all was present, and her resolve seemed unshaken by the approaching predator.

“Oh, good, another one? We got another one to deal with?”

“Y’all wanna see the mayor? Ain’t y’all already had yer way?”

“Hey, isn’t that the fox cop from the news?”

“Judy? Judy Hopps? That’s Judy Hopps, innit?”

Judy’s ears perked up at her name; she had been trying to remain with eyes faced forward, beyond the griping mass, simply trying to make it to the mayor’s front door, which seemed so much farther away now than it had a minute prior, as though it was the final door at the end of a long hallway that only lengthened as she walked down it. But yes, of course, someone would recognize her eventually. She had only lived there for her first 24 years, after all.

“That is the Hopps girl,” one male voice sneered. “What’s she doin’ with him? Thought she was off to become a big city cop.”

“Sure, she did. Saw it on the news, that fox is her partner.” 

They were close enough that both Judy and Nick could hear their non-shouted conversations, though Judy wished it otherwise. There were steps to the mayor’s office’s front porch, but presently they were blocked by the wary protest group.

Judy glanced at Nick, whose eyes were on her. He did not look scared or even threatened per se, retaining his trademark indifference, but she could tell he was not going to make the first move here – and certainly he should not be expected to; this was her home, her people, after all. The fox did give her a quick, reassuring nod, capped off with a grin, as if to say, “You got this.”

Momentarily strengthened, the bunny brushed her ears back, clasped her paws together and managed the biggest smile she could – which, given the circumstances, was not much, but what could she do? 

“Hi, everyone! Mind if we scooch on through here? Mayor Cotton wanted to see us.”

A rabbit who had been toward the back of the group – but at the frontlines of the protest, as it were; certainly she was one of the first one would find if watching the protesters from the mayor’s building – nudged her way through the center of the group. “Judy,” remarked the bunny Judy recognized as Belle Thumper, one of her classmates. “Belle. Remember?”

Judy smiled sweetly, though she felt the muscles around her eyes uncooperative, so it came out as more of a pained wince than anything. “I do! Howdy, stranger. Nice to see you!”

“Heard about what’s goin’ on in town this year? With the festival?” Belle seemed uninterested in niceties.

“Er… well, yes, I did. Sounds like it’s gonna be a big fe—“

“What do you think? About them,” she leered pointedly at Nick, who hung back a few paces, “allowed in?”

“Well, I… I think it’s fine. I mean, can’t hurt, right? Zootopia, you know, it’s a lovely place, and –“

Belle sniffed. “Can’t hurt? I remember you thinkin’ otherwise when we were kids.” The bunny shot Nick a look. “Hey, fox, she ever tell you what gave her those scars on her cheek?”

Before Nick could respond, Judy countered abruptly, “Yes, he knows about Gideon Grey. And Nick certainly isn’t him, just like you and I aren’t the same, Belle Thumper. So forgive me if I’m not quite following you.”

It was a clear day in Bunnyburrow, any threat of inclement weather a world’s away if it loomed at all. But there was glinting electricity nonetheless, and it was in the eyes of both Belle Thumper and Judy Hopps, who now stood facing each other with what appeared to be a burning desire to shut the other one up. Judy’s fists were clenched, a gesture she generally reserved for Nick’s chronic lateness, or for another assignment as a meter maid. 

Nick sensed this, and before Judy could shout something that might end up rather unbecoming of a man or woman in uniform (literally and, here, in spirit), the fox laid a paw on her right shoulder, and he immediately felt the rabbit’s muscles slacken under his light, but reassuring, touch. She craned her neck to look upward at him, and there he was, her partner, a minute but heartening grin across his muzzle, and for the briefest of moments, her dispute seemed infinitesimal indeed.

Recognizing her pacification, the fox turned his attention to the protesters, who had not budged – least of all Belle, who appeared merely reinforced by the pair’s exchange, and Nick could tell another forthcoming snide remark when he saw one. Well, two could play that game.

“Good to see that you folks have nowhere to be on this fine, sunny day,” Nick shrugged taking a pair of steps away from Judy and toward them, “but we do. Important? Dunno about that, but hey, if I’ve learned one thing in this world, it’s to not turn down an appointment with authority. Am I right?!”

Belle silently seethed, and Nick fed on it graciously.

“Then again, I’m just a dumb predator, probably don’t know much more than violence, eh?” the fox supposed, paws now twisted behind his back, raising and slumping his shoulders in an arms-less shrug. “Probably wouldn’t be out of character to… BOO!” And he flung his arms outward in front of his face in a ghostly beckon, like an eager junior cub scouts at one of their yearly Halloween haunted houses.

It was a silly move, Judy thought, but it served its purpose: Belle flinched, though not as pronouncedly as her compatriots, some of whom recoiled, one sheep even stumbling back into another, causing three separate mammals to lose their balance and fall to the ground.

Regardless of intent, it was the hole Nick needed, and, taking Judy’s paw, he pulled both of them through the narrow opening in the remonstrating throng and up the tiny knoll that led to the mayor’s office. 

Already they had regained their composure and had taken to shouting some more, but Judy was suddenly not too worried about their gripes. 

“Don’t give them any ammo, Nick,” she murmured as they climbed the short, four-plank stairway to the porch. “A fox threatening them probably isn’t going to help matters.” She paused, thought for a second, and gave him a soft punch to his ribs. “Though I appreciate it.”

“Psh. I gave ‘em the international sign of a spooky ghost,” he scoffed. “No harm in that.”

There seemed no need to knock; the interior white-painted door was open wide, perhaps to let in the breeze, with a screened patio door their only barrier. As Judy twisted the handle and pulled the door open with a snap, Nick glanced back one last time to the sound of renewed vigor from Belle and her crowd, and, before slinking inside, shouted loud enough for even them to hear: “Though I doth think they protest too much!”

He elbowed Judy once he was inside, snickering. “Get it? You got the joke, right, Carrots? Because they’re protesting and… oh, hello!”

They were standing in a tiny anterior room with walls plastered with a red flower print, and in front of a crudely makeshift receptionist’s desk, behind which sat an irritated goat. His hooves were presently massaging the space between his horns methodically, and his eyes were shut tight. “Please, please,” he muttered, “please protest outside, I told you, you can’t just—“

“Good afternoon, sir!” Judy announced cheerily, trying to push the thought of Belle and the rest out of her mind by turning her attention wholeheartedly to the beleaguered assistant. “We’re here to see Mayor Cotton.”

The goat finally glanced up at the visitors and cocked his head wearily, resting it against his right hoof. “You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Got an appointment,” Nick said coolly. “By the way, ever thought of, you know, shutting the front door? Might curb the noise a little.”

“Mayor Cotton takes her open-door policy quite literally,” the receptionist muttered. The name plaque on the edge of his wooden desk said Trevor Hornsby. “Are you… oh,” he seemed to finally take in the sight of his guests, “fox, rabbit, you’re the Zootopia cops, aren’t you?”

Judy beamed. “Yessir!”

“Thank the gods,” Trevor said, heaving a great sigh and tapping a message onto the phone to his left. “Clover hasn’t done anything all week to deal with these folks out front.”

“Yeah, well, technically, neither can we,” the rabbit officer replied with a meek shrug. “Right to protest and all that.”

The goat paused on her for a moment. “Riiiiight. The mayor will see you now, that door over there.” And he was back to his kneading before the two of them had a chance to move.

The office itself was up a flight of stairs after exiting the front room; Judy recalled this, having visited mayors past twice in her youth – once as a school field trip, the other to try to convince the previous Bunnyburrow mayor to force Clover to let her become an apprentice volunteer police officer in town at the age of 12. He had refused.

At the top of the staircase, the second floor opened up into one office and meeting space, light streaming in from the plethora of open windows and highlighting a smattering of comfy-looking chairs surrounding a TV, plus a smoothed wood desk, the mayor sitting at the large chair with its back facing the building's front windows, a mess of red fur, a John Deer hat and blue plaid shirt covered by blue jean overalls sitting in one of the two seats across from her...

"Thank you, Gideon. We'll make that change right away, no trouble at all," Mayor Cotton said, standing and extending a paw to Gideon Grey, who after a moment's hesitation rose quickly and graciously accepted the rabbit's handshake. 

"I sure do appreciate it, Miss Mayor. Can I call you that? Sorry, it sure has been a while, " Gideon fumbled, adding his other paw to the enthusiastic handshake. Then, noticing Mayor Cotton's gaze floating to her next visitors, he swiveled his head to its left, and smiled. "Well, I'll be..."

Judy's smile was true this time. The bunny scratched an ear with one paw and gave a quick wave with the other. Nick hung back tentatively, not quite used to being one of multiple red foxes in a room.

"Sure didn' expect to see you here, not till the holidays, anyway," Gideon said with a jovial laugh, stepping toward Judy with a paw extended. "Y'here for the festival?"

"That's right." Judy graciously accepted the fox's offer of a firm handshake. "In town until Sunday."

"Well, that's swell. You'll have to come by my stand -- I'm sellin' this year!"

"Get out!"

"Cross my heart! Right by yer ma and pa, matter of fact. That's why I was talkin' to the mayor here, since all the planning comes here n' all. Wanted to get next to 'em on account of it'll make it easier to cross-promote, think that's what Stu -- I mean, yer dad -- called it. Oh, and much more prime spot, too," the fox added with a toothy smile.

The mayor stood idly by, not rushing to interrupt the discussion, though she nodded warmly at Judy when she finally caught the bunny's eye.

On the other hand, Gideon had at last noticed Nick, who had remained out of the way but watched with a thoughtful demeanor the reunion between Judy and her old... well, friend was not the word, certainly, but acquaintance surely did these days. 

Judy's partner did not quite sense hostility, but there was an uneasiness with the way his fellow fox approached him, perhaps chalked up to Nick being the only unknown in the room, whereas Nick himself had always found he could mix and mingle in most scenarios with relative ease. But soon that same extended handshake was offered, and, grinning, Nick reciprocated. 

"Fox cop, ain't you?" Gideon stated, taking care to look Nick in the eye, though the fox could sense that the other was deliberate with the gesture. "Yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Hopps mentioned you. Gideon Grey's the name. Judy and I... we go... w-well, we go back."

Before they broke the handshake, Nick swore he could feel the lightest of drumming against his forepaw, persistent, coming from Gideon's own. But he pushed the thought from his mind and flashed a charming smirk. "Nick Wilde, and yes, I'm the lady's partner and devoted deferent in keeping Zootopia safe from street racers, traffic ticket dodgers, you name it. Pleasure to meet one of the cool kids around here."

Gideon laughed, and whatever anxiety might have plagued him moments prior seemed to have vanished. "Tell that to them folks outside." He looked over his shoulder. "Reminds me: Mayor Cotton, is there a back exit? Truck's parked out back anyway, and I think I've had enough of all that for a day."

Mayor Cotton smiled sweetly. "Of course, Gideon. Talk to Trevor downstairs -- he'll show you the way."

The fox tipped his cap. "I sure do appreciate it -- again -- Miss Mayor," he said solemnly. "Well, y'all're obviously here for somethin', so I'll..."

Gideon stopped, and a thought crossed his mind. He turned to Judy.

"Hey, uh, dunno what yer up to tonight, but if you'd like to stop by the farm tonight I'd love to have ya. Can strike up a bonfire, been meanin' to get the pit some work now that the summer's past." His gaze flickered to Nick before returning. "Both of you, if you'd like. But, y'know, no pressure."

The bunny leaned slightly to question Nick, who merely shrugged -- no argument there. "I think that'd be lovely, Gideon," Judy remarked. "'Round 7 work? Gotta see the family, of course."

"Lookin' forward to it."

And with one last wave, the fox was out the door. Judy heard him rumble down the somewhat-creaky stairs as she turned to the mayor, who was watching cordially.

"Sweet boy, isn't he?" Mayor Cotton spoke, carrying a dulcet, but rich tone in her voice that had put young visitors to the office at ease for nearly a decade by then. She donned a light gray pantsuit that day, though Judy knew her to be moderately unopposed to the concept of a nice flannel and comfy jeans as a work outfit, too. Her rabbit ears were perpetually slicked back, like a hare's might be. "Always thought he had it in him, back when I was superintendent -- you remember, Judy? I'm glad time has mellowed that soul."

She motioned toward the group of chairs and single couch surrounding the TV on the far side of the office. "May we sit? Let's skip the formalities of the work desk. Plus," she added, gesturing behind her, "harder to hear the good citizens outside, I'd wager."

"I'm sure it's been a rough few days," Judy intoned, taking a seat on the couch, which sat two. Nick joined her, briefly considering putting his paws up on the short brown coffee table in between them, but thinking better of it, folding his paws in his lap and watching the mayor lower herself into one of the chairs across from them.

Mayor Cotton grimaced, crossed her legs and, glancing down, tossed her arms into the air glibly. "I suppose the only thing I regret is keeping the windows and front door open, but I like to stick to my guns." She looked up at the visiting officers before her and beamed. "But I don't regret it. It was time for change. Most of us knew it; we get the Zootopia News Network out here, after all, and we follow what we can, especially the night howler incident. It took your parents, Judy, to help set everything in motion. And I was happy to oblige."

"Just... not everyone was on board," Nick stated.

The rabbit mayor exhaled soundly through her nose and shook her head. "No, Nicholas Wilde -- Nick, is it? -- no, not everyone. Which I expected, to some extent. After all, the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival has been in place since long before any of us were even around; we have our stories of the first few passed down from older generations, and of course the town records, but the point is that this festival is very much bigger than any of us here today."

"What I never understood," Judy said, "is why folks get so bent out of shape when we've had a schoolhouse in Bunnyburrow that's allowed predators for years, plus the county fair that's here every so often, the one our class used to put on skits for."

Mayor Cotton pressed the tips of her paws together and set them beneath her chin. "It's been about picking their battles, I suppose. The schoolhouse, you'll recall, is the only public one in the whole county -- and the county fair, well, you can imagine the uproar if not every resident was allowed into their own fair. But the harvest festival, well, that was different -- it was for Bunnyburrow, by Bunnyburrow, and the residents within the town limits are mostly bunnies with a few sheep, goats, what have you, here and there. Most of the foxes are off in their own enclaves outside the border, and some of the cats, well, most of them are in those residential communities over the hill to the north -- we only received the children whose parents didn't want to stick them in the academy a little farther up the road, whether it was money or otherwise.

"The point is, it was always simple to defend keeping it to Bunnyburrow residents only -- that and, of course, the deep-seated fear from the darker times our ancestors shared. That is, until what happened in Zootopia started opening our eyes. Well, some of us, anyway.

"That's why you're here, though," the mayor continued. "The festival has never had much of an issue with crime -- that's why the constable has been able to get away with overseeing security and performing as master of ceremonies, bless his showman's heart -- but with our police force run dry for the weekend, it made sense to request help. And, of course, I'm sure your boss Chief Bogo -- is he always that straightforward? Make no mistake, I admire it -- explained how it came to be that you two ended up our cops for the job."

"It does seem fairly easy," piped up Judy, leaning forward in her seat on the couch. "Some of those protesters downstairs seemed tough, but I'm sure they'll quiet down once they see the festival's going the way it was planned, right?"

"That's certainly the hope, Judy," said the bunny mayor, her brown fur rustling in the breeze sifting in through the open windows. "We've taken precautions as a concession to move the vendors of the predator variety to a separate area -- still nearby, but not on the main drag, so as to not upset our booth owners who have been with us for years. One small exception -- Gideon's pie business, which was the subject of our meeting that was finishing up as the two of you arrived. We've done our best to remain inclusionary, but fair."

Her gaze narrowed ever so slightly. "But I only needed one of you up until two days ago."

Nick recalled the morning meeting Bogo had mentioned that had resulted in his assignment to Bunnyburrow that weekend as well. "The chief said something about tensions during setup," the fox said.

"That and some of the stock has gone missing."

Judy rolled her eyes. "I'll bet those guys out front know nothing about that, do they?" she spat sarcastically. 

"They do, because some of them were among those stolen from."

The rabbit cop blinked, sunk back into the couch's soft cushion and glanced over at Nick, who retained a somber look -- she could tell he had not expected it either. "So..." he started, "the usuals were stolen from, you're saying? What about any of the new vendors? Like Gideon?"

"No theft reported."

It was as though the air went out of the entire room. Nick studied the curvature of the coffee table in front of them while Judy's legs swayed, unable to touch the ground, with unease. Someone was stealing from the festival vendors, and from the sound of things, predators were coming out just fine. It was not a good look for a pair of officers that included a fox in its ranks, that much was certain.

Mayor Cotton stood and walked silently to one of the nearby windows, just enough to peer at the crowd outside, which had taken to chanting again, but still out of view unless one focused hard on the upstairs windows. "Constable Clover has taken some stories and reports, but now that you two are in town... well, I've heard great things about your detective work." She flashed a sad smile. "I apologize; this probably isn't the lackadaisical weekend assignment you expected. But if you can help us locate the stolen goods, while also preventing more of the same from happening, you'd have my long-lasting gratitude, the both of you."

Judy leapt down from her perch atop the couch and darted over to Mayor Cotton, leaving Nick to slink a little slower behind her. "Ma'am," the bunny announced, puffing her chest in the way Nick noticed she would when she was about to say something a bit bull-headed. "We'd be happy to. You've got some of Zootopia's finest on the case. Right, partner?"

Nick looked up at the mayor, gaze halfway to focused for once, and shrugged nonchalantly. "I ride the coattails of the operation, but yes, I daresay we'll find our criminal and have time left over to take a few rides on one of those mechanical bulls. You have one of those, right? Please tell me you do."

"Had to get rid of ours a few years ago; the bulls complained," Mayor Cotton retorted with a laugh. 

She took Judy's paw in her own, led her over to Nick, and rested her other paw in his. 

"Thank you," she said. "Both of you. I suggest taking the back way and meeting with the constable. Oh, and enjoy the Grey farmstead this evening! I hear the on-site pies are to die for."


	4. A Stone's Throw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite parts of this chapter a half dozen times just to get it to a point where I thought it was at least presentable. To compare, I’ve never actually rewritten any part of a fanfic before, to my recollection – which is not a comment on how perfect my others are by any means, it just simply means that I’m sorta taking this thing more seriously than I ever have a fanfic, and I want to make it Not The Worst. 
> 
> I hope it is, indeed, Not The Worst. 
> 
> Apologies for the delay. Y’all are the coolest of cool cats, and I appreciate the feedback and response on this story so far.

When he was 21 years old, Gideon Grey had moved into his own home.

Sure, it was still on the property his family had owned for generations, back to when his great-grandfather Gregory Grey first settled the parcel outside what eventually became Bunnyburrow. In fact, Gideon could see the old house he had grown up in, the cream-colored one-story home build partially into the side of a mound-like hill, from his new abode; for all intents and purposes, he was still a resident of the Grey farmstead, and there was a mighty good chance he would be for all his days.

But as he got older, the red fox became more and more interested in moving out of the tiny bedroom he shared with his younger brother via a double bunkbed. He yearned for a place to call his own, a roof over his head that was unmistakably Gideon Grey’s, not his pa’s. His bed. His chair. His kitchen table. His front door. The life, yessum, the _life_.

Gideon’s job was still on the family farm, so a middle ground was reached: with minor help from his father and grandfather, plus a few of the cousins, Gideon would have his own home a stone’s throw from where the rest of his family stayed. It afforded the now-adult the freedom he craved while keeping him close to the farm that so needed his help to stay afloat – plus, there was easy access to the main family home’s kitchen, which Gideon always felt was a much better environment for his fledgling baking operation than the commendable, but tinier, kitchen he could muster in his own home.

It was a nice little home. Gideon had it built at an edge of the property that connected with a small forest; at night, he enjoyed hearing the crickets chirp from within its boundaries. He had flowery curtains installed on each of the house’s six windows. The combination kitchen and living room was furnished scantly but in a homely way – a rocking chair, a coffee table for the coffee he rarely drank, a hand-me-down couch that had languished in his parents’ attic for a half decade, a dining room table for two – three tops.

And at that moment, Gideon was, for the first time in ages, actually quite looking forward to cleaning the place.

The radio frequency faded in and out, as it always did at this point in the road, between a country-and-western ditty and, quite contrastingly, Gazelle’s latest pop smash. But the fox did not notice nor mind one bit, drumming to his own tune, a happy melody that betrayed his insistence that the evening would be one for the ages – at least by his own admittedly diminished standards.

“Gotta get more wood,” Gideon said, vocalizing his thoughts aloud and running down a checklist of sorts, smiling and nodding when he mentally checked each off. “Pa’s prob’ly got some moonshine lyin’ around he don’t need, too.”

It was shortly after the fox had left Mayor Cotton’s office for the day, having just managed a fairly extraordinary get: his pie business would, marking its first time selling at the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival, would be featured in prime territory at the gathering: next to Stu and Bonnie Hopps, his partners and possibly his favorite people on that earth, if he had any at all. It was at the Hopps’ urging that he even made the request, but it was a sensible one; if the Hopps table and the Grey table were sharing much of their resources, why not make it easier on both and move them next to each other? Cross-promotion, Stu had said with a smile, one Gideon had tried to replicate in his meeting with the mayor. It had worked like a charm.

And now, after informing Constable Clover’s crew of the last-minute change, he was on his way home to prepare something totally different: a bonfire, which would be attended by, best of all, Judy Hopps.

In the months since the pair reconciled, Gideon had seen Judy twice, both times when she visited her parents in Bunnyburrow either on a long weekend or while on break from her usual job as a police officer in Zootopia. They had become friendly by now; though in the back of his mind there still tingled an uncertainty that Gideon could not quite shake, a worry of retribution, that true redemption would never quite be his, the fox was much more easygoing these days around the bunny he had formerly bullied. By now their interactions felt like those of old acquaintances or even friends, not ex-enemies.

Though there was… the other fox.

Truth be told, Gideon had not known much about Nick Wilde aside from what most did: that he was Judy’s partner in the Zootopia Police Department. Still, it surprised him to see his fellow fox earlier that day, accompanying Judy to the festival – even though they were there more on business than leisure. Two cops, and it had to be the other fox in Judy Hopps’ life? Crowded, that was what it was.

But even that could not stop Gideon’s happy drumming against the steering wheel of his delivery van, the air still dense with the fuzz, static and occasional actual music notes from the dashboard radio. He rarely had company over, least of all a non-predator. He felt as though he had much to prove.

And broken windows were not going to help him in that matter, but yet, there they were.

Gideon first noticed the sight from the road as he was pulling up to his family’s homestead. During that time of day, when the sunlight shone at such an angle that it billowed fastidiously into normally exempt window panes and drivers’ lines of vision, the sun’s reflection bounced off his little home’s front windows in a sea of color not unlike a rainbow, and it was an inviting sight for the fox, a reminder of home and its many spoils.

But the many-colored rainbow did not show up on that early evening. Instead, his curtains rustled and swayed in the evening breeze, something they should not have been able to do since Gideon was certain he had closed all of them before leaving on his errand in town. Yes, he was sure of it. Completely sure.

The fox strained his eyes, edging forward in his seat and pressing against the elastic seatbelt as his van rumbled slowly down the narrow driveway, past his kithood home to the place where the forest met his family’s land.

It was true, his fears were realized: his windows were broken. Not just one. Nor even the front ones alone, comprehended after a quick search around the exterior.

All six.

“This ain’t right…”

Gideon spun around, eyes darting to his left and then to his right, and even quite suddenly behind him. There was no one near, no other voices to be heard, not even the presence of his family, who was probably inside by now. Had they not heard the glass? No, no, probably not; both his father and grandfather were a little harder of hearing, and the family car was gone, meaning his mother was probably in town picking up his younger brother.

Paws trembling now, the fox fished in the breast pocket of his overalls for his house keys, which he found with minor difficulty a few moments later. He stepped lightly toward the front door. His heart pounded in his head, throbbing more potently with each step, a million thoughts racing through his mind. Could someone be inside? Had they climbed through one of the windows? And why on earth were all of them broken?

In the grass a few paces from the front door lay a shovel, which Gideon had put there a day prior after digging up some soil for a few new radish plants; he had expected to need it again soon, so in a fit of laziness he forewent stowing it back in the nearby tool shed so it was more easily accessible the next morning. In retrospect, he felt he had made the right decision. He lifted the instrument with his right paw and wielded it across his body, left paw gripping a spot down toward the spade while also retaining his keys.

He half-expected the front door to be unlocked, given his luck, but once he reached it Gideon found he needed his keys after all, and slid the metallic object in with trepidation, breathing slowed by now, ears pricked and ready for the smallest sound or evidence of an intruder.

In one fluid, but somewhat awkward, motion, Gideon flung open his front door while retaining a firm grip on the shovel; the result was some sort of karate stance eventually, though how he came to it involved nearly tripping over his own two paws and accidentally knocking over the side table nearest the front door where he often kept his house keys in a small wicker basket, adding a miniature portrait of he, his ma and pa in happier, less-my-gosh-someone’s-in-my-home times.

Gideon breathed a long sigh of relief almost instantly, for no one was immediately visible. Three large stones, however, were – and each of them lay close to their respective windows amid shards of broken glass.

Instinctively he checked beneath the bed in his bedroom and in each closet, finding two more large rocks in the process, before ripping down his shower curtain and finding the sixth in his bathroom. He was confident now no one was there, or at least was not anymore.

Now it was the rocks that troubled him.

He had first caught a strong glimpse of one in the bathroom, perhaps after heaving an even deeper, relieved exhalation when he realized he was home alone. There was a small piece of paper taped to the oblong stone, and absentmindedly he picked it up and read it aloud.

“How… dare… you?”

The fox turned over the stone many times, read the message once more, even tore the tape and message off the rock itself to see if another message was underneath, but to no avail – it was a rock, and the rock had a note on which someone had written, simply, “How dare you?”

Gideon dropped the stone, only narrowly missing his foot, and dashed out of the bathroom in search of the other stones. First there was the bedroom: “Pray ain’t worth it,” read one – misspelled, he thought. Then, another: “U r done here.”

Living room.

“Some friend.”

Another.

“Get out of our way.”

The final rock was by far the largest. It had broken the window nearest the door and had landed and rolled to the center of the room, but not before impacting the coffee table and a green porcelain vase that had once belonged to his grandmother. _Ma’ll be thrilled,_ he thought, though he only dwelled on the broken heirloom for a split second, because he could already make out part of the final stone’s message.

Though it was the largest stone, its message was by far the shortest, though written in blocky black letters so big that they took up the entire paper.

Just one word, one Gideon Grey repeated out loud, and there was a quiver in his deep drawl as he said:

“Traitor.”

xXxXxXx

Judy Hopps’ partner Nick Wilde was not known for holding his tongue. Perhaps not ever. Pitting the pair against each other in a battle of revered, self-controlled silence to see who would crack first, it would most likely be the fox – not that he had a particularly competitive streak anyway, but chances were he would find something in the situation to make some off-the-cuff remark about, and Judy would raise her arms in victory, and he would shrug it off with a well-placed jab about how bunnies were naturally quieter species; all the better to hide from cunning predators, his dear.

So that was what troubled the rabbit officer the most that afternoon in the bed of her cousin Avery’s pickup truck, their ride from the Bunnyburrow town center to her parents’ home a little ways outside the town limits. Sure, it was a bit noisy – and perhaps slightly dangerous, but Judy had ridden in a truck bed a thousand times, and she hardly found it unlike being a passenger in Finnick’s rusty old van, bucked in or otherwise – but normally her fox friend would not have passed up an opportunity to patronize her so-called simple roots such as this: riding, unsecured, in a dusty metal surface that smelled slightly of overripe tomatoes and fertilizer, every bump in the road launching them a few inches into the air before landing with a pronounced, unsavory thud.

But instead, she watched the fox’s eyes follow the countryside surrounding them with eyelids half closed, offering not even the smallest of small talk.

Interesting, because, after all, there was much to discuss, mostly pertaining to the meeting the pair had just attended at the site of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival, led by Constable Skip Clover.

They were there on a fact-finding mission after Mayor Cotton’s unsightly revelation: not only was the unrest against predator attendance they had been dispatched to combat indeed in full force, local vendors at the festival of the prey variety were finding their stock mysteriously vanishing.

At least, they had been, but Clover was convinced the worst times were behind them.

“Night after last, that was,” the brown-furred rabbit had told them, resting his elbow on a temporary red fence that had been erected to separate what looked to eventually become an enclosure full of hay. They were standing near the entrance to the vendor portion of the festival grounds, which stood just beyond the schoolhouse and stretched farther into the town. He was out of his usual, ragtag, slightly-too-small sheriff’s uniform due to the festivities, instead donning blue jeans into which a red plaid shirt was tucked and fastened with a brown belt and oval gold buckle.

“But nothing since?” Judy had produced her trademark carrot pen and was jotting notes into a pad of paper. Nick, meanwhile, was turned away at the moment, scanning the assembled tents and tables that would be manned by vendors in the coming days.

“Naw,” Clover shook his head, twirling the strand of hay from one side of his mouth to the other in a deft spiral. “Had one of my volunteers patrolling last night, after the outcry and all. All’s accounted for today. Says he’s free tonight too, if y’all aren’t feeling nocturnal…” he aimed a brief glance at Nick, “or anything.”

“I see,” said Judy, dotting a previously missed i on one of her notes and glancing toward a pack of rabbits carrying a long wooden picnic table into the nearby schoolhouse. “None of those stolen from are here, by chance?”

They were not. The sunset was near, and anyone not a volunteer working to get the festival up and running had already retired home for dinner, Clover had explained. He led the plainclothes cops around as they toured the storage shed from which the bulk of the inventory had been taken – mostly food products in there, the constable said – and received a quick rundown of the other missing items, including a generator or two, a few chairs, signs. Nothing irreplaceable, but that was not the point.

Judy’s cousin Avery had arrived soon after, rumbling his rusted-red truck into what was normally the town square, though the festivities had since absorbed it into their own like a bit of an amoeba. Avery was one of the more soft-spoken members of Judy’s extended family, and older than her by about a few years. But there was enough chummy rapport between the kin that, sure, he didn’t mind picking her up while her parents were making last-minute festival preparations. Just gotta ride in the truck bed, if you don’t mind; passenger seat’s gone, long story.

That brought Judy and Nick to their present location, and though Judy felt there was much to discuss after the meeting with Mayor Cotton and Constable Clover’s subsequent tour, Nick did not seem to feel the same way.

The bunny glanced out at the fly-by-night land surrounding them, squinting her eyes against the rapidly setting sun. The rotating soybean and corn fields morphed into a blur of brown, yellow and green, dotted ephemerally by homes and farmsteads of varying workmanship and prestige. She narrowed her eyelids as the truck rattled past the Thumpers’ home, and wondered what they would speak about around the dinner table that night, if she would come up. She would probably come up. Belle Thumper would not miss the opportunity.

“Whose home are you staring daggers into right now, Carrots?”

Nick was beside her, having crawled across the rumbling truck bed to meet her on the opposite side. She looked up at the fox; he was now following the Thumper household too, paw shading his eyes against the searing sunlight.

“No daggers here,” said the rabbit, resting the length of her arms against the truck edge and laying her chin in them. “That’s just where that one bunny from today lives. Belle.”

“Looks like daggers to me, and sharp ones, too.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

After a few moments she felt Nick’s left paw rest against her own left shoulder. It was warm and inviting against the fretting breeze of truck-assisted motion, but like earlier in the day, reassuring. She felt her muscles relax again. She had not noticed they had been tensed.

“You remember what I said to you one of our first days together?”

He was looking at her now. He wore a blasé expression, but in his eyes, Judy was reminded of one of the first times she felt like she came to know Nick Wilde, con artist and formerly prospective member of Zootopia’s junior ranger scouts. And the last memory informed her.

“Don’t let them see that they get to you.”

The fox smiled warmly. “Judes, my buddy, my pal, you’re doing that very thing. If I can see it, that bunny out there certainly can.”

“I know,” groaned Judy, burying her head in her paws. “I just… Nick, I know Zootopia isn’t perfect, but I guess for a little while there, I felt like maybe…” She paused, racking her brain searching for the right words.

“You forgot how the world can be?”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s it.”

Nick chuckled. “You’re running into the very problem most people in Zootopia, predator or prey, run into, no matter how long you live there: this idea that it’s the center of the world, or practically the center of the entire universe, and that everyone else is always looking to it to shape their own lives.”

He added a quick shrug. “And trust me, I get it,” he said reassuringly. “You wanna think it really is a utopia, and maybe it is – or maybe it’s the closest we’re ever gonna get. But that doesn’t mean it’s what the rest of the world’s going to follow, or even what the rest of the world wants.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“And that’s what I like the most about you.”

Judy felt his paw leave her shoulder as the fox sat down on the outcrop of metal in the truck bed into which the right rear wheel had been fitted. He rested his elbows against his knees, hunched over so that they were nearly at eye level. In all their months of friendship, she was not sure he had ever performed such a gesture – truly stooping to her own level – when he was not being either dismissive or playful.

“I like that you want to try,” Nick said gently. “Even if the rest of the world doesn’t want to try with you. Makes a cold heart like mine actually wanna make some good around these parts.”

It would have been a much sweeter moment had Nick’s tie not flown up into his face after a particularly potent gust of wind from the moving truck – aerodynamics, and all. Judy giggled. She reached up and peeled the tie off Nick’s muzzle, revealing underneath the fox’s contorted countenance, tongue lolled off to the side, as though the fabric had struck a finishing blow.

“Ah, here we go,” the rabbit intoned, pressing and straightening the tie against his green buttoned-up shirt. “Knew you couldn’t stay serious for much longer.”

“I know, that was gross. I feel gross.”

Familiar objects had begun to catch Judy’s eye. There was the old abandoned barn in the middle of a corn field, yes, and that was the mailbox made to look like a handgun by her trap shooting enthusiast neighbors. Avery’s yellowed three-story homestead looked rickety as ever, though his family always swore by its sturdiness.

The rabbit tugged at Nick’s tie once again and led him, the fox making mock choking noises, across to the other side of the truck bed. There it was: the Hopps farmstead, built brick by red brick by her great-grandfather many years before, now complemented by a dozen tall oak trees that exceeded the brown roof helming the two-floor building. She spotted her dad coming in from the barn behind the house, probably on the way in to the feast of a dinner her mom had undoubtedly prepared for them, knowing her way with guests. By the time the truck had pulled into the driveway, he was waving one paw, using the other to remove his hat and wipe the sweat from his brow.

Judy hopped out of the truck even before it had stopped and parked. She met Stu Hopps in a tight embrace, and her dad lifted her off the ground and twirled her once in the air before actually letting her down quite abruptly – close to dropping, in fact – and clutching the middle of his back.

“Oof, can’t do that anymore, can I?” Stu grimaced, straightening up and massaging the aching spot on his spine. “You get taller or did I just get shorter?”

His daughter smiling lovingly, arms clasped behind her own back. “Didn’t realize you were such an old man, dad. What, it’s been only three months and you’re already going soft on me?”

“Three months is a long time, Jude,” her dad replied, glancing past her and giving a quick wave to Avery, who honked his truck’s horn in return and threw his truck in reverse up the short grass-and-dirt driveway. He squinted at the other approaching figure, who was straightening his tie again, head down so far. “And you didn’t bring anyone with you last time.”

Judy snapped her fingers, smiled and whirled around. “Yes! That’s right! Dad…” she dashed over to the oncoming fox’s side, linking her left arm within his right, “you’ve already seen him in our video calls, buuuuut, this is Nick, my partner!”

Nick had stopped messing with his tie, and by the time he looked up there was an extended paw in front of him. He took it and was enveloped in a strikingly firm handshake. Nick did not see that much of Judy in her dad, but there was that unmistakable smile, no doubt about it.

“Stu Hopps. It’s a please to finally let the great Nick Wilde into our home.”

“Just wait ‘til I steal all your silver,” Nick replied, stone-faced. But sensing a flicker of disquiet on the face of Stu Hopps, tried to stick the landing with a toothy smile. “Kidding!” he matched the firm handshake with a vigor of his own. “Kidding. Pleasure, sir.”

“This guy!” Judy’s dad laughed – out of relief or nervousness, Nick could not tell – and turned his head and called into the house. “Kids! C’mon out and see your sister and her friend.”

The next half hour was perhaps the most whirlwind experience of Nick Wilde’s otherwise eventful life. Little Judy Hoppses of varying sizes, colors, genders and fox-fueled zeal leapt like a torrent of fur and cottontails onto him while Judy and Stu looked on, straining not to giggle. Once the little ones cleared out – which, admittedly, took a while – those a little closer to Judy in age offered their own esteemed handshakes, and this time Judy could not suppress a laugh at how some of her siblings attempted to act all grown-up in front of the fox, when she knew their demeanors around the house and certainly around her were anything but.

Then came the much-anticipated meeting of Bonnie Hopps and her daughter’s co-worker. A hug was in order, and so it came. Nick felt as though his ribs would never be the same.

And there they were, seated around the long dinner table in the front room of the Hopps home, which normally sat 20 but had been expanded to accommodate their two guests via a slight afterthought of a side table, at which some of the youngest were seated, since they often did not know the difference anyway – though from the other side, Nick could occasionally spot them straining their necks to steal a glimpse of the fox. He shuddered at the thought of another frontal assault.

Presently Judy was explaining her brief trip into town earlier that day, particularly the meeting with Clover to discuss the stolen goods from the Fall Harvest Festival.

“Real shame, isn’t it?” Stu said, dolling out a pile of steaming carrots onto his plate. “Think we lost a couple boxes of blueberries I’d hauled out there yesterday” – Nick audibly gasped – “but other than that we came out relatively clean. Some of the other folks weren’t so lucky, but hey, what can you do?”

“And everyone’s still selling,” Bonnie added. “Which is good. I can’t lie, we were a little worried the mayor might… rescind the predator invitation.”

“You really think she would?” asked Judy between bites of stew.

“Not by her own accord,” her father said, pointing a fork toward the window that faced the direction the town was in. “Mayor Cotton’s been swell since the start – you remember how good she was to everyone, even the troublemakers, when she was superintendent of your school. Seems good under pressure, too – problem is we haven’t had a whole lot of that before now, and the anti-preds, well, they can shout.”

“Doesn’t help that the constable isn’t totally behind her,” inserted Bonnie with a quick eye roll. “If he spent as much time policing this thing as he does throwing his weight around as master of ceremonies…”

“Bet ya Carl Pumaski doesn’t help matters.”

Judy was not immediately familiar. “Who’s that?”

“Well, Jude, you remember the community up in the hills a little north of Bunnyburrow, right? The… well, ‘gated community’ sounds so formal, but I suppose there is one,” Stu said thoughtfully. “Anyway, you had a couple of classmates from there, those panthers, or jaguars, or whatever they were – point is, the big cats, but the ones who didn’t want to send their kids to private school for this reason or that. Carl Pumaski lives up there; two of his young’ns are attending school down here now, as a matter of fact. Big guy. Panther. But nice, pleasant, maybe a little overbearing, but the man used to sell cars for a living, what can you say?”

“We partnered with him and a few others to convince the mayor to make the Fall Harvest Festival all-inclusionary this year,” Bonnie continued, turning to Judy. “And since we got the yes, Carl’s been sitting in on some of the planning committees and… well, let’s just say that he and Skip Clover haven’t quite gotten along.”

Judy opened her mouth to press further, but in that moment, a dinner roll had sailed past her head. She whirled around to her right and saw the guilty face of her younger brother Clay, while her other siblings around him either suppressed grins or attempted to look equally remorseful.

“Shouldn’t be throwing the food your mother slaved over, Clay,” the rabbit admonished, though she could not bring herself to be too harsh; Bonnie Hopps had many a gift, but her bread baking had always suffered a bit in comparison. “You almost hit our company.”

Beside her, Nick sheepishly lowered a paw clutching another roll. She aimed an elbow into his left side.

The landline phone rang. “Excuse me, I’ll get that,” Stu announced, pushing himself away from the table and walking into the kitchen.

“So, Nick,” Bonnie said after they watched her husband leave. “How are you enjoying the force? Judy says you’ve been a great addition.”

“Got a good teacher, Mrs. Hopps,” said Nick, shuffling the roll back onto his plate and momentarily considering leaning back in his chair before thinking better of it – manners and such. Straightening in his chair, he smiled politely. “Just wish she’d let us go to the good places for coffee. Your daughter can be stingy sometimes.”

“Am not!” Judy shot back.

“Sure, sure, you like the chain place because of the taste, not the cost,” the fox teased, turning to Bonnie with a defeated shrug.

Judy’s mother stifled a laugh behind her paw, but could not hold another back when, moments later, Nick, having felt a tug at his shirt sleeve, lifted his arm to find Matilda, currently Judy’s youngest sibling, dangling from the fabric.

“I’ve got a visitor,” murmured Nick to Judy, glancing down at the tiny bunny, who was no more than 3 years old, amiably. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Judy, looks like you’ve got some competition.” Another elbow into his side.

“How come you’re not as big as the other fox?” Matilda squeaked. By now Nick was raising and lowering his arm like a crane, but she had not budged, perhaps enjoying the ride.

“Well, you’ll have to be a little more specific, my dear.”

“She means Gideon Grey,” Clay said matter-of-factly nearby. “And yeah, she does this with him too.”

“Ahhh, the Pie Guy,” said Nick, finally opting to pick up the little bunny and set her in his lap, where she proceeded to crawl up his tie. “Well, look, when you’re eating pastries all day, I suppose you’ll gain a few more pounds than someone as in-shape as I.”

“Nick, you still can’t run a mile without throwing up,” countered Judy.

“…diet is everything, sweetheart.”

“Or maybe Gideon’s just stronger than you!” Judy’s brother Stu Jr. announced. “He lives on a farm like us, and we tackled you to the ground earlier.”

“It’s true, I stood no chance.”

“I hear Gideon’s name?” Stu had returned to the dining room. “Speak of the devil, that was him on the phone.” He paused to look at Judy and Nick, the latter with his youngest daughter now dancing triumphantly on his shoulders. “Says he needed to reschedule. Something’s happened. I don’t know what, but he seemed awfully distressed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone make sure I don't take a week to update this again, please.


	5. Nothing to Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

“Drink your tea before it gets cold.”

It was a phrase Gideon Grey had heard practically a hundred times throughout his lifetime, dating back long before the fox could even stomach the stuff and continuing even since he had made it a habit to drink at least a cup each morning. It was muscle memory by now for his mother, an ordered response to a familiar sight: her oldest boy at the balsa wood kitchen table, scuffs of dirt caking his red fur either from play or work, sometimes both – in his younger days wide-eyed and interested, later withdrawn and forlorn, now content and genial.

Usually she did not brew a cup this late, preferring the hot liquid – usually an Earl Grey, because, she chuckled to herself, perhaps they were related – as a morning pick-me-up rather than an evening nightcap, but it was the first thing to which motherly instinct was drawn after finding her son out front of his home a few paces yonder from hers, paws solemnly in pockets, speaking to Constable Skip Clover, whose white pickup truck had been parked nearby. 

After learning of the damages and ushering Gideon inside – not before inviting the constable inside too, but no thanks, he’d pass, much still to do for the festival but rest assured, a report would be filed – the tea kettle was brought in from the nearby cabinet where she stowed pots, pans and other miscellaneous cooking items, and liquid comfort was on soon after, with a little liquor added for good measure after the brewing process, of course; she could tell when the situation called for it.

“Talked to Dad,” Gideon’s father, who had joined his wife and son in the kitchen, still humid from the remnants of steamed cabbage cooked a few hours prior. “He didn’t hear a thing. Busy watchin’ the news, he says. You know how his hearing is anyway.”

“Yours ain’t much better,” his wife replied, not so much as a countering jab as a demonstrable fact. “Where were you?”

“Y’have to ask? Pre-dinner nap, as always.”

“Of course, dear.”

Then the parents turned their attention to their eldest son, whose paws curled around the white mug dispensed by his mother, testing its temperature before deciding it was safe to take a swig. Upstairs they heard the minute creaking of the floorboards in the room directly above, formerly Gideon and his brother’s shared bedroom but now occupied solely by the latter; Colt said he would be down for dinner soon, and offered a helping paw for cleanup at Gideon’s later if it was needed.

But it was not, not really, Gideon insisted. He had already swept up some of the glass before the constable arrived, and otherwise there was just the vase, for which he expressed his sorrow profusely (“Ma’s sure to have plenty more in the attic; she sorta hoarded ‘em, you know,” his mother assuaged).

Still, the offer for some restful shut-eye in his old home was on the table; it was a warm evening, especially for the season, but one’s windows being either half- or fully broken was not a recipe for a good night’s sleep, they imagined. Gideon had not yet decided whether or not to take the offer, but he was grateful all the same.

Dinner was a sordid affair.

“Ev’ryone had this comin’ to ‘em,” Gideon’s grandpa muttered after finishing half his plate, consisting mostly of potatoes. “I said it to you, George, didn’t I?”

“C’mon, Pa,” this ain’t the time.”

“Like hell it ain’t. Those windows are replaced easy, we already have a few spares in the shed to start us on our way, just need a good dustin’. But I said, then, you remember, George, I said that festival is no place for a fox for any other predator. Ain’t never been, and somethin’ on the news a couple hundred miles away won’t change it.”

“We know, we know,” said Gideon’s mom with a hush. “That’s why you went ahead and turned down our invitation to sell without asking the rest of the family.”

“And our windows look just fine, Clara.”

“But one of us… or, I dunno, someone like us, did that to Gideon’s place. One of us. Ain’t one of them Thumpers or the like. Though I wouldn’t put it past ‘em,” George added with a huff.

“We don’t know that, Pa,” murmured Gideon finally, breaking the silence he had kept all dinner before then among the family bickering. He did not look up, though; his eyes remained trained to the tea mug he still clutched, paws drumming against the side.

The older fox narrowed his gaze at his son bemusedly, arms lifting briefly in a shrug. “Notes sure suggest otherwise, Gideon.”

Which was true. “Traitor” was particularly damning diction, wording he could not imagine being uttered by a prey animal in this instance, for he had done nothing to harm any of them to his knowledge. On the flip of the coin, well, doing business with prey was enough, but as it stood, Gideon was the lone predator to make it outside the Fall Harvest Festival’s off-the-main-drag vending area at which much of his kind had been placed in a concession, he figured, especially to those who had been longtime proprietors at the festival. And word traveled fast enough around Bunnyburrow, even in the countryside. Blame those mobile phones, he reckoned.

“I’ll keep an ear out around school tomorrow,” Colt offered from by the kitchen sink, where he was rinsing his plate clean already – ravenous teenage appetites and all that. “Before the festival starts. Maybe someone knows something, or’ll let slip a clue.” 

“Appreciate it,” said Gideon with a gracious nod. His brother was much tamer than he in his school days, even a bit popular or at least well-liked among his classmates. It was an enviable trait Gideon wished he had picked up with ease or leastwise had attempted to develop, but a former bully was, in the eyes of many, one sans the adjective regardless of later comeuppance.

“’Course. And offer still stands for cleanup –” he paused mid-sentence, for the younger fox’s attention was snagged by movement outside. He squinted inquisitively. “…or maybe they can?”

Before Gideon or anyone else at the table could quantify a response, there was a gentle knock at the front door. Clara dropped her fork onto her plate, pushed back from the table and went to greet the visitor, for she was closest to the entrance – and besides, neither her husband nor father-in-law seemed to have heard.

On the other side of the door outside, preparing to rap the wooden door a second time before it creaked open in her face, was Judy Hopps, a bunny Clara had not seen in quite some time – not since she and Gideon’s school days, frenetic as they were. But the little rabbit, now a bona fide officer in the Zootopia Police Department, was a friend now to her Gideon, and that was good and well in her mind that very moment; perhaps that was what her son needed this evening, whether he knew it or not.

“Evenin’, Miss Judy,” the fox greeted, beaming cordially. “Glad to see a friendly face at this hour. Suppose you’re here to see Gideon?” She cocked her head to call backward. “Gideon, dear, it’s Judy Hopps and…” There was a figure hanging back farther in the dark, mostly out of the porchlight that illuminated Judy’s eager countenance, but she could not quite make it out. “…someone else.”

Nick Wilde had not meant to stand out of focus; he merely expected Judy to take the lead in an unfamiliar environment. He took a step forward, at least enough into the light that Clara could recognize him as one of her kind, and took a paw out of his pants pocket to offer a meek wave. “Nick Wilde, ma’am,” he spoke. “Lovely home, reminds me of the ol’ foxholes my mom used to show me pictures of.”

“Ah, that’s right, the partner,” Clara, paws on hips, declared with a curt nod. “Most of the time ‘round these parts it’s the fox doing the knocking.”

“My friend here’s all about flipping the institution on its head, ma’am.”

Judy had not heard. She peeked behind Clara Grey to catch a glimpse of Gideon, who had originally invited them over that evening before rescinding the proposal at the last minute – and, as Stu Hopps had pointed out, did not seem thrilled at the prospect of doing so. 

“J-Judy?”

She found him peering around his mother, wearing a confused look, glancing past for a brief moment at Nick and Clara’s small talk before speaking: “I… sorry, I called your parents, I had to cancel tonight, sorry to make you come all this way…”

“Actually, we did get the message,” Judy said, stepping around his mom onto the quaint yellow welcome rug that greeted visitors – but no farther; this was not her home, after all. “My dad just made it sound like something might be wrong, and… we wanted to make sure everything was OK.”

Four foxes stared back at her: Gideon, his timidity matching her keenness, then the three family members either seated or standing around the kitchen table nearby, all of whom she had met at some point in her life while a citizen of her hometown, though to varying degrees; she saw George Grey around town occasionally or driving past their own homestead, while Colt was a young kit in the schoolhouse when she was finishing up her tenure there. Gabriel Grey, Gideon’s grandfather, was a bit more of a mystery to her, and judging by the regard he returned to her, the feeling was mutual.

Gideon seemed to sense that perhaps their discussion was best left outside. He motioned for Judy to give him a moment, grabbed his mug, dumped his plate into the sink and walked back to the expectant rabbit. “Y’mind if we talk outside?” he suggested, gesturing toward his home. “Might be for the best.”

They squeezed back past Clara, Gideon landing an awkward peck on her cheek before stepping down onto the doorstep. “We’ll be out back, Ma,” he announced soberly. “Thanks again for the tea.”

“You’re very welcome, dear. Pleasure talking to you, Mr. Wilde.”

Nick gave a quick bow of gratitude as the fox closed the front door. He hesitated a few moments longer there by the doorstep, long enough to notice Gideon’s father and grandfather appear temporarily at the window to the right before vanishing deeper into the modest home. 

He turned and followed a few arms’ lengths behind Judy and Gideon, noticing, as Judy had mentioned, another structure, slightly smaller, which he took for Gideon’s own house. The bachelor pad, Nick thought, grinning. But his smile faded when he noticed the peculiar sight: the front windows, plus one they could see from the side, were all broken.

“Got home after seein’ y’all,” Gideon explained, walking slowly toward his residence, Judy at his side, paws clasped behind her back. “Came home to this. Every window, busted. Dunno why. But you can imagine why I thought… maybe tonight wasn’t the right time for a get-together.”

Judy darted to each window, peering inside, taking out her cell phone and using its flashlight as she ran it along the length of each sill. The only light she could see inside was a nightlight plugged into the far wall socket, a tiny tree with a treehouse built waywardly among its branches. The curtains continued to sway in both the slight breeze and each miniature gust of wind brought about by her motion toward each. 

“Did you call Constable Clover?” she asked finally, still sizing up the breaks in each pane. “I don’t know what he might be able to do since he’s not a cop like, say, we are, but he always seemed to keep the peace just fine when I lived here.”

“Yeah, he was by a little while back. He’s filin’ some report, gonna keep an eye out for trouble too. Mostly on account of the notes on the rocks.” Noticing Judy’s inquisitive look, he clapped his hands together once. “Ah, shoot, that’s right, I didn’t mention those. One sec.”

Unlocking the front door once more, he welcomed the fox and bunny into his living room and, after clearing some space on the couch, reminding them to mind the shards of glass he had not yet disposed of and collecting the stones – and, more importantly, the notes they came with – from his bedroom, laying them out on the coffee table after finally flicking most of the lights on in the house.

Judy and Nick pored over each piece of paper – Nick scoffed at the pray/prey misspelling, which earned him another shot in the ribs from the rabbit – while Gideon took the rocking chair opposite them.

“Looks like you got an enemy,” Nick said, straightening up after setting the final stone – the one marked “traitor” – on the table. “Give anyone food poisoning lately?”

“Do you have any idea who could have done this?” Judy asked, ignoring her partner’s question.

The fox before them could only shake his head, eyes darting downward and then back up to expectant looks. “Naw. I got nothin’, trust me. Been tryin’ to figure it out myself the last hour or two. Nothin’.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t one of Carrots’ kind here,” said Nick, patting Judy twice on the head. “Right?”

“Prob’ly not, dunno who I’d’ve betrayed anytime recently. But…” he scratched his chin thoughtfully, “same goes for any foxes and the like. At least, I thought so.”

Judy was checking through each stone and its corresponding note a second, then third, time. Unfortunately, doing so was having the adverse effect from what she intended; she felt further from the truth with each passing moment. Her mind was full of contradictions: for sure, someone who knew Gideon Grey was not pleased with him, but the whys and the hows were murky indeed. Predator? OK, then whose way was he supposedly in, and why? Prey? Then to whom was the fox a traitor?

“Can I ask something?” 

Judy snapped back to the present, and there was Gideon, leaned forward a smidge, having directed the question to either of them but particularly at the rabbit.

“Sure, Gideon, what’s up?”

“Forgive me for askin’ it, but… why are y’all here, anyway?”

The bunny cop cocked her head to the side. Gideon stared up at the rotating ceiling fan above them for an instant, as though searching for the right words, before continuing: “I mean, I told y’all not to come. But here you are.”

“Well, I was worried about you, Gideon.”

Of all things that had transpired that day – and boy, had there been plenty – this arrested Gideon Grey more than anything. Judy’s words seemed earnest, and she spoke them with a docile smile.

Judy Hopps, that dumb bunny, the one he had practically assaulted – no, no, not practically, he had assaulted – as a kit, gave a damn about him.

And though he could not quite surmise why she felt that way or how he deserved it, for the first time that day, he cried.

xXxXxXx

The lights were off again in Gideon’s home, but this time, someone was home – they just had firelight to guide them.

Out front of the home, in a small pit surrounded by grass near where some of the Grey family’s crops began and stretched far off into the distance, the fox had struck up a small blaze thanks to a few logs he and Colt had chopped for winter plus, originally, a jug of lighter fluid, though Nick had regaled them with, after a few tries, a fire started sans the assistance of accelerants. Color me impressed, Judy had said. Nick had countered with a diatribe against the junior ranger scouts and how he had just made Finnick teach him.

At that point in his homeowning life, Gideon laid claim to just one lawn chair, but a few months prior he and his brother had rooted a pair of decent-sized tree stumps to the ground surrounding the burn pit after using the rest for firewood, and that’s where he sat, along with Judy, neither minding the smoothed, but nonetheless splintery, surface. Nick took up residence in the chair, one leg crossed up on the knee of the other as he fumbled through different apps on his phone. There was only occasional service around these parts, it seemed, but he lapped up the connection to the rest of the world every chance he could get.

The resident fox had fished out a handful of plastic cups, and, with his dad’s permission, a lone jug of moonshine, apple pie-flavored; the fox they bought it from was bound to have more soon, what with it being the start of fall, he reckoned.

Judy had never tried the drink – she had consumed alcohol in her lifetime, sure. But moonshine, it seemed, was something her parents either avoided altogether or simply hoarded for themselves – and to the latter point, after tasting one burning, but delicious, swig, she did not blame them.

Nick, meanwhile, had, and he opted to strut it.

“The mouthfeel on this is stellar, but what I love most comes mid-palate –”

“Nick, just shut up and drink,” Judy spat before gulping another mouthful, to uproarious laughter from Gideon.

The younger fox had not quite said it in a way he felt orated the point clearly, but he was grateful, so, so grateful, for Judy’s arrival despite his recommendation otherwise. For the first time in quite a few hours, he felt at ease, perhaps even more so than when he first received the news from Mayor Cotton that he would be allowed to sell his baked goods alongside Mr. and Mrs. Hopps at the festival. 

That morning, he had been filled with fretfulness – what if she said no? Then, of course, came the broken window incident. Even his brief meetings with Constable Clover had left him irresolute, particularly the latter at his home due to the vandalism, but earlier, when he had told the constable about the mayor’s decision to move him to a different, altogether better table? Gideon could not quite shake the feeling that the request was more of a nuisance than reasonable acquiescence. 

But here he was now, with someone who he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could call a friend. Perhaps she felt the same.

“Gideon, you never told me,” Judy started, setting down her cup on a spot in the grass she had smoothed flat with her foot, “how’d your business get started?”

He realized that, indeed, she would not have known the answer, because Gideon had never told her. Not that he had possessed much of a chance to do so, of course; virtually all of their meetings in the last year or so had come with her parents in tow and either ended in a rushed goodbye or little more than pleasant formalities in which the whole group could partake. 

And he did not mind telling the tale, although…

“Y’really wanna know?” he asked, toeing the grass beneath them in a small circle. “You’ve got so many cool stories about being a police officer in the ZPD. Heck, you saved that darn city. Why don’t you tell one of them again?”

“Gideon, this is how people get to know each other. Plus,” she added, picking up her cup again, “I’m curious how some brute like you were as a kid grows up to a career as unassuming as pie making. You gotta admit, it’s a bit of a stretch of the imagination.”

“What, because he’s a fox? Foxes can’t bake?”

“Can it, Nick.”

Gideon chuckled. “Naw, yer not wrong. I guess… I guess it just…”

He stood, taking care not to knock over his liquor, and stepped closer to the fire. There, he turned, against the flickering light and billowing, earthy smoke, as though he was about to amuse his guests with some sort of eerie, ghostly tale.

“So, once I was getting toward the end of school – Judy, I don’t think we had any classes together by that point – I guess something just started to… click, y’know? Like all that stuff in my mind from when I was a pup, everything that caused me doubt, harm, made me wanna lash out at y’all, I could feel it meltin’ away, like it just didn’t matter no more. Sure, I mean, I still had my outbursts, and I was never great at all them tests anyway, but it all didn’t matter that much anymore. 

“Anyway, Ma was always the baker in our family. Pa and Grandpa worked ‘round the farm, and Ma did her share too, but she was the best cook by far. One day I came home from school and did a little bit of homework at the kitchen table, meanwhile she was bakin’ up something in there, and I thought, well, heck, that smells good, I’d sure like to make that myself sometime if’n I could figure it out. Ma didn’t mind me watchin’ over her shoulder, and after a while it… well, it made way more sense than anything I ever learned in school, trust that.”

Judy nodded along to Gideon’s story, all the while thinking about how she wished she had done the same with her own mother. Bonnie Hopps had lent her much in this life, but her cooking skills were not among them. Not that her current apartment was much of a place to do much of that sort of thing. Mental note: next place needs a kitchen, or at least a stove, she decided.

“What I liked about the whole thing,” the fox continued, tossing another log onto the sweltering bonfire and watching it cause hundreds of tiny afire ashes to crackle into the sky like a small firework, “was that… look, they say in Zootopia you can be anything, right? Well, here, it ain’t all flowers. Most everyone ‘round here’s a farmer – shoot, look at your parents, Judy. And that’s fine, really, it is, and my kin and I, we’re happy with the way things are and how they’re prob’ly always gonna be.

“But when you bake something, or when I do it, it’s like y’got all these ingredients, this and that, some spice or powder or maybe something savory, but what you gotta do is make it into something. Yer lookin’ down at flour and yer thinkin’, well, what can I do with this? What can I make? And the answer is… shoot, there ain’t an answer, or not just one. I sell 15 different types of pastries right now, but I ain’t even scratched the surface. I’ve seen the shows on TV, the baking ones. Have y’all? Yeah, they can get silly, and sometimes there’s drama for no reason, but boy, I’ll tell ya, the stuff they can accomplish, it’s mindblowin’.”

“Point is,” said Gideon, taking a seat back on his tree stump, almost woozily, clutching his cup between two claws, “when I look at what I got, I think about all the possibilities in this world, and how even I could make stuff, build from nothing to something, make my own way.” He shrugged. “Suppose it was a wee bit intoxicatin’.”

“I’m sure Miss Hopps over there would know nothing about intoxication right now,” muttered Nick into his cup.

The bunny stood up quickly to prove a point, but was swiftly grounded by a very sudden woozy feeling in her head. Putting down her drink on the stump and resting her paws against it for support, she turned to Gideon humbly. “Uh… bathroom?”

“Yeah, I got one,” remarked Gideon, trying his best to hold back a laugh. “I’ll turn on the lights and get you there, don’t worry.”

“Carrots, Carrots,” Nick reproached from his chair, barely even looking up from the faint glow of his phone as the pair departed. “Don’t let the chief find you in this state, night before a gig.” In the back of his mind he resolved to get a photo to at least show Clawhauser later.

Judy aimed a certain derogatory gesture in his direction, which the fox caught and planted on his cheek as though it were a kiss, as he watched Gideon lead the stumbling bunny into the one-story home, flicking on the living room lights and holding the door open. “Guess it’s true what they say,” he murmured. “Bunnies are lightweights.”

Nick, to his credit, had seen Judy drink before. Not often, certainly, but there were a few occasions in which the partners had ventured to a nearby bar after a particularly trying shift at the precinct. Perhaps it was a testament to good ol’-fashioned country moonshine, rather than the minimal-content swill most of the bars in town served, that had set her on a path to destruction. 

He took another sip of his own drink and began scrolling yet again through the seemingly endless array of messages that dotted his phone, the social media posts from both friends and acquaintances, even people whose relation to anything in this world he had long forgotten. Sometimes it was a tic more than anything, combating boredom with an absentminded perusal of civilization around him. Occasionally he did actually care enough to keep up with someone – or at least to the extent with Finnick that he made sure the little fennec fox had actually posted sometime in the past few days, else there was a good chance he needed bailed out of something.

He paused on one photo, posted earlier in the day, because he immediately recognized himself, as one often does; let alone the fact that he did not keep tabs on too many other foxes. Had never quite meshed with his own kind, probably because there were not too many others in Zootopia anyway, at least not outside his family.

But yes, there he was – and there was that dumb bunny, pressed up against his face with a near-maniacal glee plastered upon her face, as it often was when she took selfies. The scene behind them was nearly a blur, coming from the Bunnyburrow-bound train as they passed through Zootopia’s outer reaches and into the country. 

He lingered on the photo a while longer, for there was something about it that was out of the ordinary.

Nick was smiling.

He would have to get Judy to delete that later.

“Think she’ll be fine.”

Nick nearly flung his phone into the nearby fire in surprise as Gideon returned to the bonfire and retook his seat. But he collected himself quickly enough, sending his fellow fox a sly grin in between two more sips of his drink. “Did the porcelain god get involved?”

“Naw, think it was just too much too quick,” Gideon replied, then adding, diffidently, “I’m sorry, prob’ly should’ve warned her.”

In that moment Nick felt like he truly considered Gideon for the first time as he watched the firelight glimmer against his somber facial features, elbows resting on knees as he stared into the flame. He was certainly bigger than Nick, not just taller but in every which way – though, he had to admit, Nick had always been a little slim even as a pup. 

It was the fox’s eyes that struck him the most. There were obvious years of pain there, of torment, of grief, of hardship. He could see it etched below his eyes, into his face, like a carved line of scars of that made its mark every time strife found him. And yet Nick saw an inherent optimism in the way he looked at the bonfire in that very moment, when the fox had even brought up the idea in the first place, when he spoke of his budding business back in the mayor’s office, when he first saw them arrive in town, even after having to fight through a dozen protesters hurling, if it was anything like he and Judy’s encounter with them, biting insults that might have rocked many to their core.

Hope, that was what it was. Perhaps that was what Judy deserved of a partner, of a friend, more than… whatever he brought to the table. He was already regretting the last words he had spoken to her, even though he knew in his heart she had not taken offense. It was the principle, sooner the response.

The two foxes sat in silence for a little while longer, the chirps of crickets enveloping what might have otherwise been an eerie quiet alongside the crackling fire. Night was in full bloom, and the stars were out, twinkling transitorily against the blackness of it all. Nick realized he had never seen the sky like this before; Zootopia was many things, but its beacons of neon light and many-windowed buildings provided splendor for the evening only if one was not affixed on the clouds above, considering the far-off white dots that hung over them. Sometimes it was not even possible to see any, let alone them all. But out here, Nick felt as though the deck had been laid out in front of him, and he had his pick of the litter, and mixed with the invigorating breaths of fresh air he could now take at will, he wondered fleetingly if it was worth it to ever go back.

Judy rejoined them a short while later, wiping her mouth from the immense, satisfying drink of water she had just consumed after Gideon left a pair of glasses for her on the coffee table. Both smiled genially at the approaching bunny, who walked with slightly more gusto this time around but still a little off-kilter. She considered the tree stump for a moment, markedly shook her head and then landed a single kick against the legs of Nick, who impulsively moved to the far end of the chair, bracing himself for another previously unexpected blow before slackening from his cower as the rabbit slumped into the chair next to him, despite it being best for a single body, head leaned back against the green padding.

He smiled. “You can tell me to move, Judes, I get the picture,” he chortled, lifting himself up to move to the stump beside Gideon, but her right paw at his left knee stopped him. 

“No, no,” she muttered. “In case I fall over.”

“If you fall over the other way, it’s not gonna matter much.”

“…shut up and do this for me.”

And in an instant, Nick’s mind claimed victory of the faithful eyes of Gideon Grey, at least for today.

“Y’all can stay the night, if you’d like, by the way,” Gideon offered at last, nodding at Judy’s vaguely slumped frame and then at the house. “I mean, if y’all don’t mind open windows n’ all. Doubt we’ll have any visitors. Just, y’know, if y’all need it.”

Nick considered the submission momentarily, but it was Judy who waved it off. “I appreciate it, Gid,” she mumbled, albeit with a sincere note. “But my mom and dad’ll probably worry, no matter where I am. Probably best to get a good night’s sleep in my actual bed.”

“That reminds me, where am I sleeping?” Nick asked suddenly.

“Gideon’s couch is open, did you not just hear him?”

The other fox chuckled. “Well, at least let me drive y’all home, whenever you wanna leave.”

“Bless you, Gideon Grey.”

Nick considered the sky again, particularly the moon, and then glanced down at his phone, which still lingered on the photo from before. He quickly swiped it away, looking instead for the clock. “Should probably get going soon,” he noted. “Still got some petty theft to try and crack, hopefully before lunchtime.”

“Heard about that,” Gideon said after a quick yawn, leaning forward. “Stuff got taken from the shed where they were storin’ some of the usual vendors’ stock, yeah?”

“And some stuff from around the merchant booths, too,” Judy added.

The fox smirked and shook his head. “Great, just what we need,” he growled softly. “Can’t even imagine who’d do it, certainly ain’t among any of us new vendors, I’d reckon. Feel like it just gave the anti-preds even more ammo, though.”

“Belle Thumper sure seemed to relish in it if she knew already,” muttered the bunny.

“Oh. Y’all know Belle too, then.”

Judy leaned forward for a moment, yawned, stretched her arms wide and slumped groggily back against the chair back. “Yep, we had a really nice moment back in front of the city hall.” After another yawn, she snuggled her head against Nick’s shoulder.

“I stay away from ‘em if I can,” Gideon stated resolutely, though there was a tint of disquiet in his voice. “Back when I started my business, they were…” He stopped. “…it wasn’t a swell encounter.”

“What’d they do, boo you off stage and throw tomatoes?” Nick interjected.

“…ain’t far off from it, truth be told. But look, I… I deserve it. A hundred, thousand, million percent, whatever hate they got for me, that’s fine.” The fox’s drawl was shaking, wobbling. “Betcha I made ‘em hate all predators. I’m sorry if you have to run into them again.”

“Actually,” said Nick, eyes to the sky again, “I’m thinking we might have to. Sounds like there’s some deep-rooted malcontent there, and with all this happening ‘round town, I wonder…”

Gideon shrugged. “Ain’t seem like ‘em to have a paw in something like this, but hey, yer free to head out there.”

Nick looked down at Judy, who appeared on the verge of a deep sleep – and as cute as their current position was, Nick Wilde did not care for drool.

“Mind starting up the ol’ boxy wonder?” Nick asked, nodding to Gideon’s delivery van. “Let’s get this little partier home.”

And a few minutes later, Nick and Judy landed on the doorstep of the Hopps family home. The breeze rustled the rabbit’s pink flannel shirt as she stood leaned against Nick, whose right paw rested firmly on her shoulder. A lone light illuminated a room on the second floor, but otherwise, the house was dark and quiet. 

Nick squinted his eyes against the headlights of Gideon’s van, which idled in the small driveway, its driver waiting patiently, one paw gripping the steering wheel, elbow out an open window. 

“Carrots,” Nick whispered. “Look alive. Your parents won’t be pleased if they knew two foxes got you a little tipsy.”

The rabbit stirred, her head swimming in what was quite the unfamiliar feeling for her; she would stick to beer from then on, she was certain of it. She reached out a flummoxed paw into the dark, eventually finding the front doorknob, then remembering the placement of the spare key under the rock in the adjacent garden that would unlock it. Cautiously she bounded down the step, located the small metallic object, steadied herself back on the stoop and thrust the key into the lock. It clicked open, and Nick took the knob and ushered her through the frame, though not before glancing back one last time at the fox in the truck outside and giving him a quick nod. 

Once it was reciprocated, inside he went.

Judy was already halfway up the stairs toward her bedroom, and Nick could hear the stirring of someone upstairs as he shut and latched the door behind him, the sound coming amid the crunching of Gideon’s van against the driveway as he backed out into the road and drove away. He clambered quickly after her, reaching the bunny just in time for Stu Hopps to appear at the top of the stairs.

“There you guys are,” Judy’s father said quietly; there were many bedrooms full of sleeping children nearby, after all. “Mom’s already asleep. How’s Gideon?”

“He’s… fine,” Judy replied between yawns, snaking in between her dad and the wall toward her bedroom. “Can we talk about it in the morning? I fell asleep on the way home, can you believe it?”

“That’s a five-minute drive, Judy.”

Sleepily – either truly or acting, perhaps a bit of both – Judy shrugged, arms in the air, and stopped outside what Nick took to be normally her bedroom. “Where’s Nick sleeping tonight, by the way?”

“We moved Kristen into the bunkbed room with your younger siblings for the weekend,” her dad said, referencing Judy’s sister closest to her in age, who was still living at home for the time being. “She didn’t mind. Nick can have her bed.”

Neither Judy nor Nick expected this, but neither protested. “Your hospitality is immaculate, Mr. Hopps,” the fox commented, cupping his paws in a sign of gratitude. “I’ll try not to keep you up with my snoring.”

“…you don’t snore…” Judy muttered, stumbling lightly into her room.

“Hey, snore, no snore, all’s well, pal. I mean, dude.”

“Nick’s still fine, sir, I’m not a teenager.”

“Right,” the older rabbit beamed. “Nick. Just don’t you two do anything I –” he stopped short of finishing his sentence, froze, and then turned on his heel and was out of the hallway before Nick could even react. “I mean, welp, goodnight!” The door slammed a little harder than he probably intended.

The fox could not quite read the warning, but shrugged it off as the delirious mutterings of a middle-aged rabbit probably awake well past his bedtime. Sighing to himself with a chuckle, he sidled inside Judy’s room and, with a delicate turn of the knob, closed it.

It was nearly pitch-black inside, save for the moonlight streaming in from a window at the far side of the modest room between two standard-sized beds. Judy had not flipped on the light, probably owed to her inherent knowledge of the room Nick assumed she had grown up in – and sure enough, she had already collapsed on her bed, not even bothering to touch the bedspread or its sheets underneath. Nick wondered if she might have already been asleep. And he did not mind the darkness, anyway; night vision and such.

Still, he took special care to avoid stepping on anything that might protrude on the hardwood floor beneath his paws, stepping quietly to the indeed-snoozing bunny. He smiled. Her mouth was wide open, crammed against the white pillow, right arm slumped over her body at an angle he thought could not possibly provide comfort, yet here she was.

A thought crossed his mind. It was the first time he and Judy had slept in the same room together. It was in separate beds, of course, but a momentous occasion nonetheless. Things move quickly in Bunnyburrow, he thought, subduing a laugh at his own joke, the thought of Judy and him in that way, under those circumstances.

Tenderly he moved her shoulder so that she was on her back, and tugged at the blanket and its sheets beneath. “You’re gonna have to help me out a bit here, Carrots,” he whispered, and she, either having not been fully asleep yet or simply awakened by his light touch and the movement he solicited, slid her legs up close to her body and lifted them, allowing the fox to grab hold of the covers, then pulling them back over her, padding the blanket against her frame.

“Mmmmmgood fox,” she purred with a smile, and was asleep again in a moment.

A few moments later, Nick had settled into the other bed, having found his luggage graciously carried upstairs by the Hopps family and containing his white sleeveless undershirt he normally wore when snoozing. He sank his head into the provided pillow, surprisingly fluffy, and swiveled his head to face the sleeping bunny.

“Good night, Judy,” he said with a hush, and let calming rest overcome him too. He fell asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This ended up longer than I expected. Sorry if anyone was gonna read and is all 6500 NAH B I'M GOOOOD.
> 
> 2\. This should have went up earlier today, but dang, RIP Prince, man. What a day.
> 
> 3\. Repeat number two, because, SERIOUSLY.


	6. The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt it necessary to thank all the awesome people who have stuck around through four-ish chapters of this thing so far. It's been exhilarating to see the response here, on Fanfiction.net and even on a few other sites, Pastebins and the like. I don't take this kind of thing lightly, nor for granted. It's an honor that a few people out there think this is going well.
> 
> OH, and before I forget: I don't think she'd mind if I posted it here since she already did so in a public comment section elsewhere anyway, but Fumogena, who's writing the stupidly good "Try with Me" fanfic you've probably seen around these parts (and if you haven't, GO, GO RIGHT NOW, DON'T EVEN READ THIS THING, JUST GO), drew a couple lil doodles from the early chapters of this fanfic! http://postimg.org/image/z2d6wo4q9/ Ain't that sweet? It sure is sweet. 
> 
> I'd draw some fanart of hers, but my goodness, y'all do not want to see that.
> 
> Off to bump this new Drake album bye

Judy Hopps' eyes were bleary in the rear-view mirror of her father's van the next morning, but neither from restless sleep nor a hangover – it was just early. Bitterly early.

But that was when Stu Hopps had awoken her that sunny Thursday morning, a skip somehow in his step despite his own retirement at a late hour after opting to stay up late awaiting Judy's arrival home from the Grey residence, but he chalked it up to years and years of being used to rising with the sun, no matter the day or circumstance. "It's like clockwork," he had said proudly, a statement he had made many times of the course of his daughter's life when she contemplated the hows and whys of an early morning wakeup call. "Eventually your body just gets used to it."

Though she could hardly understand why that meant she had to wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning, but she did not protest; as she later learned, her father was taking their truck into town to do some prep work on their vendor table at the festival, so if they wanted to get to Bunnyburrow proper at a reasonable hour, it was now or, realistically, the afternoon.

Plus, Judy felt as though she could not show tangible signs of lethargy, because Nick Wilde had taken the phrase "up and at 'em" and really, truly, _ran_ with it.

It was a Nick unlike Judy had ever seen before. When Stu had woken her, the fox had already been downstairs, breathing in the fumes of his morning coffee in palpable serenity. And once her dad had started up the truck, there he was, in the middle seat, keen to discuss the road into town, whose homes they were passing, who lived where and so on.

Whereas most mornings, she could barely count on him to whisk himself out of bed in time for a morning precinct meeting that generally occurred even later than the hour at which they were awake now.

The country had done strange things to this fox, she decided. Never downplay the benefits of good, plentiful fresh air.

Meanwhile, she was fighting off the ill effects of vulpine-made moonshine - she maintained she was never _that_ drunk, she just got up too quickly, and that set off a chain of events that led to her stumbling into her childhood room and passing out with little regard for the blankets, sheets and anything else except sweet, sweet sleep, and she did not find her version of events tough to follow in the slightest.

So she mostly tuned out Nick and her dad's rambling as she stared at herself in the mirror, willing her eyes to appear at least a little less hazy if at all possible, but…

"Oh, you don't say, a _boyfriend_?"

She came to with Nick eyeing her in the reflection of the rear-view mirror with one of the haughtiest looks he had ever mustered, and a second or two later, she knew why: her dad was telling the tale of Aaron Longfellow, whose cottage-esque home they were presently passing.

"I'll tell ya, that was Jude's first crush right there," Stu remarked, giving a quick glance toward the Longfellow home as they motored down the two-lane road toward Bunnyburrow proper. "Had it since elementary school, I reckon; she was always asking for me or Bonnie to drive her over to his house or vice versa to play. Swell folks, the Longfellows, so we didn't mind."

"Yes, sure, but the boyfriend part, Mr. Hopps, you're burying the lede," interrupted Nick with a grin. Judy would have aimed a particularly weighty punch into his side had he been directly next to her, but she decided a death stare in the mirror would do.

"I'm getting there!" laughed Stu, slapping his paw once on the steering wheel. "Well, anyway, they get older and, you know, start beatin' around the bush and all, then finally Aaron comes around the house one night – I think he walked the whole way, maybe sprinted, that rabbit was fast as they came – with a wad of flowers he'd picked from the family garden, shaking like the dickens, to ask her out to the school prom."

"The cad! And?"

"Well, he asked me first; the kid was looking up into the sky and rattles off this memorized speech about how they were getting older and maybe their friendship was more and how he could barely breathe anymore when he was around her. Doesn't even realize it's me 'til he finished."

"And that's the end of the story, so sad," Judy butted in. "So, Nick, h—"

Nick put a claw to his mouth. "Hush, little bunny. This kind of gusto _has_ to have a happy ending, eh, Mr. Hopps?"

Stu shrugged. "Judy wasn't even home. Took the little ones muddin' down the road a ways, sent the boy over that way." He blinked. "'Course, once he got there, he could barely tell anyone apart – you know, 'cause of the mud and all."

"Hey, Judy."

"Shut up."

"What's mudding?"

"Shut _up_ , Wilde."

The tales continued as the truck finally rumbled into the town square, Stu glossing over the details of the rise and fall of Judy and Aaron, Bunnyburrow power couple (Nick resolved to glean that information later) and recalling his daughter's exploits in attempting to volunteer under Skip Clover as a junior constable in town before parking the vehicle in a cordoned-off spot where vendors were instructed to park and unload.

Not that Judy and Nick planned to stay long in town; their sights were set on the residence belonging to the Thumpers, which was a half mile's walk away – back toward where they had come from, perhaps counterproductively, but they did not want to risk the family having not yet awoken for the day, and Stu had requested some help in unpacking the large boxes of carrots that were stowed firmly in the back of the truck, and they could hardly say no.

By no means was the marketplace bustling just yet, but Stu, Judy and Nick were also far from the first to arrive. Nick noticed that quite a bit more had been done in terms of setup since the previous afternoon; there were many-colored flags strewn in between telephone poles, signage erected on the sides of buildings and in grassy areas that supported wooden stakes. Even as they arrived, Skip Clover and a few other rabbits from his volunteer team were hanging a large banner that stretched across the main entrance: 'Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival,' it read, in between two colored carrot drawings, once unfurled. 'Celebrating our 150th year.'

"Ah, they sure picked a banner year to let us undesirables in," Nick whispered to Judy, who shushed him outright.

Constable Clover saw them approach, but the rabbit did not expend much more energy than offering a curt, "Mornin'," to the trio, whose arms were full with large crates jam-packed with mostly carrots and other vegetables that even Nick admitted looked tantalizing.

Stu continued onward, but the fox nearly ran smack into Judy, who had stopped short of the constable.

"Sir," the bunny started, shifting her weight as well as the crates she held firmly in her paws, edging her head around the side, "any leads on the missing stock from the festival?"

"Nothin'. In fact, I barely had enough time to think about it yesterday after you left, what with the Grey residence having a break-in." Clover's expression was stoic, and he did not even glance once at Judy or Nick, eyes trained on the banner two young rabbits, probably barely out of high school, were tying and hammering to posts on either side.

"I heard," Judy nodded. "We saw Gideon Grey last night. You know anything more about that? He said you were going to file a report."

"It'll get done when it gets done."

Judy lingered there for a little while longer before deciding she was not going to receive all, or even a sizable portion, of Clover's attention in that moment. Looking over at Nick and motioning with her head toward the vendor area, she walked away without another word, though Nick blew a discreet raspberry at the constable before departing himself, not that he even noticed.

"He always this charming?" the fox muttered when he caught up to his partner.

"I actually remember him being pretty nice when I was a kid," said Judy with a quick shrug. "Usually he's in a great mood by now with the festival and all."

"Well, when you let the vermin in…"

"Clover's not like that," Judy shot back. "No, there's gotta be something else."

Nick did not press the issue further, opting internally to trust someone else's judgment of a character he barely knew. Certainly the prospect of spearheading a festival with a history dating a century and a half had its spoils, but also its anxieties.

They found Stu behind the Hopps' vendor table, which had already been erected under their conjoined tent that Gideon would share. He was stacking a few boxes of their stock on the table, a few more in a pile in the tent's rear corner, and then a final few he planned to stow in the provided stock shed – though not too many on the latter front, he said, given the burglary.

"Where do you want these, Dad?" Judy asked, jiggling one of the boxes of carrots.

Stu considered the extras momentarily before snapping his fingers. "Those'll go in storage too. C'mon, we'll head over together."

By then, the sun had pronounced the day as one of impeccable warmth for fall, and not a cloud was in sight: a tremendous day for the start of the festival, especially considering slightly more watery predictions on the horizon for Saturday night.

Good thing for now, because the pleasant weather seemed intoxicating for those already in attendance. Had they not known better, Judy and Nick would never have expected their services to be needed one bit – no protests, no scowling looks, not even a twinge of pessimism now surrounded what had been a trying few days leading up. Every person they passed was genial, affable, simply happy to be there despite what Judy still considered far too early a wakeup call.

The nearest storage shed was a happening place. Its confines were already beginning to cramp with the voluminous stocks of fruits, vegetables and other items stocked in heaping piles along its walls. Outside, meanwhile, was just as bustling, as though it had a water cooler effect – probably spurred by the presence of a drinking fountain nearby. A small group had gathered, talking cordially among one another, a few clutching coffee cups ("Where did they get them and where do I sign up?" Nick whispered).

Judy recognized a few from her childhood spent in Bunnyburrow, and sure enough, so did they.

"Mornin', Stu. Jeez, quite the load this year," one flannel-shirted goat called with a wave. Judy could not quite place his name, but she knew him as a fellow vendor, but from a few towns over, generally only in her hometown for festivals like these. "And that ain't Judy? Bringing the all-stars this year. And…"

He paused on Nick. The goat had not expected Nick. No one, it seemed, had expected Nick.

"Larry," Stu said with a brief chuckle, "close your mouth, pal, don't you have some manners over there in Bleatonton?" He wagged an arm at his daughter and the fox. "This is Nick Wilde. From Zootopia. You might've seen him on the news, I reckon."

"Threw out my TV years ago, Stu, you'll have to enlighten me."

"Radio?"

"Well, sure…"

"Oh!" a sheep standing next to Larry exclaimed. "The fox cop!"

"Is that all I am anymore?" Nick raised a paw to his forehead, dimmed his eyes and feigned discontent.

Larry stroked his bearded chin. "Fox cop, eh? Fox cop, rabbit cop, just when you think you've seen 'em all…"

He held out a hoof as they neared. "Larry Goatsby," he said. "Pleased to meet you. Sorry, the shock of seeing preds here still… it still ain't quite worn off."

"Plus we don't get much of 'em in Bleatonton," added the sheep, who introduced herself as Carrie Woolington."

"That's true, that's true," Larry nodded thoughtfully. "'Specially not foxes – y'know they used to come in and steal our wool? Shear 'em clean off, I swear it. Called it the Wool Road. Hear it still exists in some parts."

"Well, in Zootopia, our sheep ended up trying to eliminate predators and take over the city, so, you know" Nick smirked. His already sore ribs received another blow. "Ow! Just small talk, Carrots," he countered innocently.

"Calls ya Carrots, ain't that adorable?" sighed Carrie, fanning herself with a small paper program.

The bunny rested her paws on her hips. "I call him Slick. We're even."

"Speakin' of even…" Carrie had lowered her voice to barely more audible than a whisper. "Stu, y'all think you'll even break even this year?"

Judy's dad had been lugging his stock into the shed, appearing every so often from within the doorframe to grab another. He happened to be there this time around to hear the sheep's question. "Yeah, I reckon so. And if not, there're a hundred other markets out there." He laughed. "What's goin' around?"

The sheep bit her lip. "Nothin', nothin' really, I suppose. Just…" her eyes flickered briefly to her left, "much more competition this year is all."

Nick immediately noticed where her eyes had begun to wander. To her left, but beyond them a little way, he spotted a pair of cheetahs rounding a corner toward another cluster of tents and tables. He tapped his partner on the shoulder, nodded in its direction with a quick jerk of his head and witnessed the bunny's gradual comprehension.

"Pleasure to see you all again," she said humbly, glancing around at the tiny group of fellow prey. "Gotta make the rounds. C'mon, fox cop."

"I'd tip my hat if I had one," offered Nick before being jerked away by the rabbit.

"Thanks for that," she muttered once they were out of earshot. "Had been looking for a way out of that conversation."

Nick waved a paw dismissively. "Oh, they seemed positively delightful, if only a little lovably prejudiced." He glanced ahead. "Anyway, thought we should pay a visit to the preds' side of town."

Which was slightly less lively, but nonetheless spirited a place.

Perhaps it was because half the tents still were not set up.

The fox scanned the bustle of animals carrying boxes of produce, setting up tables, sticking poles into other rods and draping sheets over them, and eventually found his mark: the two cheetahs he had spotted before.

"Didn't think I'd see some of your kind out here," called Nick, who smiled toothily when the big cats, a male and female, turned around, having previously been huddled together at a tent-less table, pointing at a small piece of paper that was taped onto it. Nick continued: "Certainly not you two. Scott, isn't it?"

The two cheetahs stared reluctantly at the approaching fox, ears perking up when they heard their names. After blinking a few times, the smaller, but bulkier, male lit up. "Ayyyy, it's the pawpsicle fox! Honey, honey, Amy, _this_ guy!"

Nick beamed. He stuck out his paw to the woman, who took it nimbly. "Nick Wilde," he said, glancing back at Judy for a brief moment to see if she was still nearby. "Charmed. I sell your… your husband, is it? I sell him a good ol' frozen treat every Wednesday afternoon."

"Ah, so you're fox responsible for the couple of pounds he's been putting on," she deadpanned.

"Not lately, honey! My guy here's been absent lately, been seein' some fennec take over," noted Scott. "Where ya been, pal? That other fox, he's not much for the talkin' and all that."

"Suppose you could say I got a promotion. Income tax went up, but what can ya do?" said Nick. "What's a bunch of cheetahs doing out in Bunnyburrow?"

Scott reached into his pocket. "I never tell ya?" he pulled out a small plastic bottle containing a liquid of some type and thrust it into Nick's paws. "I'm in the enhanced water biz, me and Amy. Stuff for athletes, runners, mostly. Anyway, we come out of the city to markets in the surrounding area when we can, and this place has been on our list for years. Just now let preds, apparently." The cheetah cocked his head. "What about you? Icy treats for the little ones?"

"My friend back here's from town and she decided this would be an ample spot for our first date, y'know, see how things g-."

Suddenly there was Judy, standing in between them, stepping on and pressing down into Nick's right paw for good measure. He winced.

"Visiting the old harvest festival," she said, shaking both of the cheetahs' paws. "Judy Hopps, Bunnyburrow born and raised. You picked a great festival to come to."

Amy, who had returned to eyeing the sheet of paper on their vendor table, which Judy realized was a list of rules and regulations, clicked her tongue and folded her arms over her sleek, athletic frame. "Thought so," she murmured, "but they don't seem interested in treating our types over here all too well."

"You don't say?"

The other cheetah shrugged with a smirk. "The welcome was a little different than what we're used to," he mused. "Not that we want preferential treatment, mind you, but, well, our check-in gal, it was like we didn't exist to her – just handed us our rules sheet and moved on."

Judy's brow furrowed. "Actually, do you mind if I read that?" Amy handed her the single sheet of paper and the rabbit pored over it, Nick glancing over her shoulder to read as well.

"…11 p.m. curfew?"

"Stay in your area?" Nick added, eyes narrowed as he skimmed the document.

"You think that's weird, too, then?" the female cheetah asked, scoffing. "11 is when the place _closes_. Do they expect us to be out of here long before then? I have half a mind…"

"You mind if I borrow this for a sec?" Judy interjected, already edging back toward the main vendor area. "Just for a sec. I'll bring it back, sorry!"

Amy waved a paw. "Keep it for all I care."

But Judy was already gone, her mind a blurred mess of thoughts, feelings, plans, ideas. By the time Nick caught back up with her, she was tugging at her father's sleeve with a vigor that threatened to tear the whole shirt off Stu Hopps.

"I'm goin', Jude, I'm goin', ow!" Stu yowled as he was led away from the crowd of vendors still huddled around the supply shed, back toward his table. Judy thrust the paper into his paw and said nothing, leaning back on her right leg and crossing her arms, waiting for him to take in the whole thing.

He turned the paper over twice, eyes darting here and there across the paper, his expression melting into something quite crestfallen.

"Judy…" he mumbled finally, "…what is this?"

"I see you found our rules sheet."

Nick did not know too many people in Bunnyburrow, so not recognizing the voice that came from behind them did not rattle him too much. It was once he realized that Judy felt the same way, having whipped around on instinct, ears raised at attention, that he determined the paucity of the deep, but expressive, vocal nearby, and turned around too.

"They said they wouldn't do this," boomed the approaching panther, his glossy black fur tucked into an equally black suit, accented only by a yellow tie that matched his eyes, burning as they were. He pointed to the paper. "They said it would be equal. But where's the equality, Stu? Do you have something like this?"

"Carl, I… you know I had no idea this would happen," Stu sputtered, flipping the paper over again and again. "Curfew… etiquette on how to approach and sell to prey… are you kidding me?"

Carl Pumaski straightened to his full height, which towered above even Nick – so high, in fact, that he would have had to have ducked significantly to fit inside the Hopps' vendor tent. His paws, which had been clenched, slackened a bit.

"I'd've expected it from Clover," he growled, glaring off in the distance, where the constable continued inspecting the décor raising. "But you and I both know this was signed off by the mayor."

"I do. You're right."

The panther crumpled the piece of paper in his mighty paw. "I have half a mind to storm up there and…" He stopped, for his gaze had finally traveled over someone nearby other than Stu Hopps. "…oh… hello, my apologies, how rude of me."

He knelt, bending one knee, and took Nick's paw before the fox even had a moment to react, and then the same to Judy. "Carl Pumaski's the name, Stu here and I lobbied the mayor to allow predators into the festival. You look like a Hopps. I know that face. I don't forget one."

"Judy Hopps!" the rabbit assented with a grin much like her father's. "One of Stu and Bonnie's older daughters. I'm here for the festival."

"The cop!" Carl exclaimed, the tension oozing away from his massive frame. He pointed two paws at Nick. "The fox cop!"

"Ayyyyy," Nick shot back with two pointed paws of his own. Judy could practically feel the radiance of his sarcasm glowing against her face.

"I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances," the panther said, standing up again. "Bad timing, bad timing. But hey, that's life, isn't it? One big string of bad timings, just gotta work through and find the ways to capitalize on them. Am I right? Of course I'm right!" He seemed to briefly consider socking Nick on the shoulder but thought better of it; small fox, big cat, back problems for days.

"So…" Judy said finally, looking back and forth between her father and Carl, "this wasn't supposed to happen? This list of rules?"

"Not one bit," said Carl, his exasperated expression returning. "I told them to make me a committee member and I'd stamp out any issues for us predators before it could wreak some kind of havoc at the festival itself, but hey, what did I know?" His fangs glinted in the morning sunlight. "All-prey board, of course."

Stu scratched his chin. "Think it was more of a seniority thing than anything, Carl. Since you just moved to the area and all."

"Shouldn't matter in the interest of putting on a good show, Stu, as you and I have discussed many times."

Judy glanced down at the piece of paper she held once more. "So, Dad, the usuals don't have anything like this?"

"Judy, we've been working at this festival for years, and not once have we received a rule sheet longer than about two lines, mostly setup and teardown info." Stu scratched an ear. "We knew the predators were going to have to vend elsewhere, but that's all Mayor Cotton ever told us."

"…which means I'm prob'ly arriving at a bad time, ain't I?"

Gideon Grey's left arm was full of white boxes of pies, while his other lugged a little red wagon that contained even more. He smiled meekly at the rabbits, panther and fellow fox. "Mornin'," he continued. "How you feeling, Judy?"

"Peachy, Gideon, thank you," Judy Hopps said, lying. 

"Speaking of peach," Nick interposed, rubbing his paws together, "I could go for a peach pie, Gid…"

The baker fox chuckled. "How much money you got on ya?"

He pulled his wagon over to the table next to where Stu had begun setting up his own stock. The older rabbit could sense what was coming next from Carl before the suited panther even spoke.

"Gideon Grey," the big cat said shortly, eyeing the fox as he unloaded a few of the boxes from the wagon. "Saw your name suddenly disappear from the vendors' list over with the predators, my friend. What –"

Gideon looked over his shoulder, beaming. "Stu here helped me get bumped up to the big leagues, since we're partners," he said. "Ain't that cool?"

Carl Pumaski locked his gaze onto Gideon, then over to Stu, then back to Gideon. Finally, he grinned. "Very. Very cool." He clasped his paws together. "Well," he announced, "suppose I'll go speak to the mayor. Nice meeting you folks. Stu, take care."

Judy watched the panther stalk away stoically; he was moving toward Skip Clover, still near the main entrance, with the city hall rising against the backdrop of trees and greenery in the distance. She noticed her father had been too, and she studied the elder rabbit's muzzle as he turned back around. He looked thoughtful, but resigned. Like he had just had an encounter he had considered before but for which he had not quite prepared himself.

But Stu Hopps' unbridled optimism soon reasserted its dominance. "Anyhow," the rabbit announced, "Gideon, good to see you. Nick and Judy told me this morning about the… incident."

Dismissively, Gideon waved a paw as the other loaded his final few pies onto his table. "Grandpa's already got two new windows installed. Sure the rest'll be done before noon if there're enough spares."

He glanced aside at Judy. "The constable didn't seem like he knew anything still."

"Don't think he's gonna be much help," she replied bleakly. "Hey, at least it's the fest now. Can focus on selling all those pies."

"Yeah…" he looked around, wandering this way and that at the surrounding booths, "there is that." His ears pricked at the sound of hushed whispers coming from the table opposite them in the narrow thoroughfare. He whirled around, and two bunnies, heads lowered in conversation and their gazes on the fox, ceased immediately and looked away pointedly.

They exchanged small talk a little while longer. Judy and Nick helped Stu complete the last of the morning setup while the latter rabbit called his wife – she would get a ride in with Avery later, no trouble, just needed to wait for her parents to arrive to watch the kids."

"You didn't tell me Grandma and Grandpa were coming into town!" Judy slammed her paws onto the table excitedly.

Stu shrugged. "Sorry, Jude, lot goin' on, probably slipped my mind. In fact, I don't even know if they know you'll be here, come to think of it, let alone that you brought a guest."

"I'll accept a minimum of three war stories," Nick chimed in, paws curled happily around a cup of coffee he had finally snagged from a volunteer handing them out.

"Just three? Boy, you are in for a shock," came Stu's ominous response.

After a while, Judy clicked on her phone to check the time. It was late enough, certainly, that most – especially country folk – would be awake under the usual circumstances. And that suited her just fine, for they had another appointment that morning.

"Nick," she said. "The Thumpers'?"

"Let me chug this before I go for moral support," the fox proclaimed before whisking the remainder of his hot beverage into his mouth.

Gideon's ears perked up at the mention of the rabbit family. Shifting his paws against the trimmed grass, he grunted, "Y'all are still doin' that, then?"

Judy nodded. "With everything going on around town and with the festival, and after our encounter with Belle yesterday, it just… makes sense."

"Sure, I get it. Just don't say I didn't warn ya is all."

"Heading out?" Stu asked from his seat behind the vendor booth, hat in his lap in a bout of light rest after lugging all those crates in from his truck.

"We're off to get chased off someone's property with a shotgun, Mr. Hopps," bragged Nick. "Wanna join?"

"Think I'll pass on that one," the rabbit confessed, clutching the table and pulling himself up with a small, weary groan. "Got my own problems to deal with this morning. Been putting it off, but I suppose I should go back up Carl in the mayor's office, assuming he made it there."

His daughter sniffed once. "You think you guys can make things change?"

"Depends," Stu said. "Mostly on how aware Mayor Cotton was about the whole thing."

"I'll text you when we get there and when we leave," Judy declared, offering a quick hug that was immediately reciprocated.

Meanwhile, Gideon reached into his pockets and pulled out a few coins. He laid them out on his table, counting up his cents, nodded and scraped them back into his hand. "I've got enough for a cappuccino at The Icy Koala," he proclaimed, waving the currency in his paw. "Y'ever have one of 'em? Picks you the heck up, and tasty, too. I'm gonna head over there while you're off bustin' your tails."

Judy offered a quick wave. "We'll give you a ring when we're back in town," she said, paw to her phone instinctively, before realizing: "Wait, do I even have your phone number?"

As they exchanged numbers, Nick scrolled through his own phone, again past the train selfie he kept meaning to flag as inappropriate to mess with Judy, other paw in his pocket. There was a twinge in the back of his brain, a feeling, a fleeting sensation that he – or they – were being watched, one he could not quite shake. He looked up, around, to his side, and thought he saw, out of the corner of his right eye, a figure, smaller than he but a little bigger than, say, Judy, leering at them from the end of the row of vendor tables, down toward where the predators were set up.

But when he finally got the inkling to look directly, whatever had been there – if he had seen anything at all, he wondered – was gone.

He did not have time to ponder it, for a split second later, Judy had grabbed his paw and was leading him back toward the main drag, waving goodbye to both her father and to Gideon Grey. The fox inched his gaze back over his shoulder as he was led away, but as before, there was nothing out of the ordinary to meet him.

The fox's attention snapped back to the rabbit, who had let go of his paw and was stowing her phone back in her jeans pocket. "How long's the walk?"

"I'd say 20 minutes tops," Judy replied coolly. "Less if we run."

"Now, I know even you aren't gonna manage that in those pants, Hopps."

They sidled past a hubbub of other arriving vendors as they made their way into the parking lot, plus brushed past a few who seemed to be arriving as prospective attendees, even though the festival was not scheduled to start until the evening, certainly after school had let out for the day (and weekend; the Friday of the Harvest Festival was generally denoted as a day off by the local school district).

There were eyes on Nick Wilde; he could feel them. Not like what he had felt a few moments earlier, sure; there was no secrecy in the motive, no clandestine operation benefiting prey animals who felt the need to leer at an out-of-place fox. No, the glares the Zootopian felt were also quite easily seen and placed; it seemed as though every sheep, rabbit, whatever animal they passed, had no qualms about giving the fox the once-over, or shuffling their young children to a part of the sidewalk where a vulpine in admittedly hypercasual dress (the usual green shirt, tie and pants; he had a look to keep up, after all) would be avoided unambiguously.

"They'll get over it," Judy muttered.

"Just wait until they see cheetahs."

Eventually, Bunnyburrow emptied into a two-lane road with a sidewalk on one side that led to the train station. After that, the sidewalk ended, but Judy and Nick continued onward, stepping lightly at the point where the road's white line had not quite met with the edge of the land cleared for the motorway, allowing the pair to walk somewhere that was not uneven grassy terrain that led into a drainage ditch.

"So…" said Judy after a minute or two of uninterrupted silence, "just wanted to say thanks."

"I don't follow," Nick quipped.

The bunny shrugged as she walked, just slightly ahead of the fox but still a paw's length away. "Getting me home last night. Not making fun of me. Not telling my parents, for sure."

"Well, you're a big girl, Judes, so I don't see the problem they'd have with you having a glass or two of moonshine." He considered the rest for a moment. "As far as everything else, I mean, what else was I supposed to do? You were my ticket in to your home, after all.

"And as far as the making fun part, just wait 'til you see the pictures Gideon and I took after you passed out around the bonfire."

She aimed a punch at his upper leg, though he blocked the blow. "I didn't pass out," she maintained. "Not until the car ride home. And also, would it kill you to have just one serious conversation in your life?"

"It does sound painful."

Groaning, the bunny turned back toward the road. "Forget it. Just… thanks. For being there. I thought you might wanna know that I… appreciate it."

The one large defense mechanism that was Nicholas P. Wilde's personality flared up again with yet another tailor-made retort, but to the surprise of both Judy and even Nick himself, he stuffed it down and offered a solemn, "You're welcome."

And he wanted to say more than just, "You're welcome." Because really, what was that phrase? "You're welcome." You're welcome to… what? You're welcome to my undying affection and/or selfless act for which you thought gratitude was even necessary? What if all welcome mats in the world were just preordained "you're welcome"s that were meant to absolve the homeowner from exchanging too many niceties with their guests when they thanked them for every single piece of goodwill thrown their way?

He was getting carried away again.

Deep breath.

"Y'know, Carrots, I'm… really happy I'm here, actually."

Judy narrowed her eyes and glanced back. "Wait, did you really steal my parents' silver?"

"And you say I can't be serious," the fox chuckled, waving his paws in front of his face. "No, no, I mean it, I really do. Do you know the last time I was outside the city?" The rabbit shook her head. "Neither do I," he answered, thrusting his paws into his pants pockets. "I… I dunno, it was probably some family visit to some distant relatives when I was a teenager. At least an entire decade, spent in Zootopia. Can you imagine that?"

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Darn right, you don't. But that's something I didn't realize until I came out here with you. Breathed this fresh air, smelled all these new smells. Met your _family_. Have I told you how cool your family is?"

"Please," Judy piped up, waving a paw facetiously. "I'm them. They're me. Of course they're cool. A little off the wall sometime, but what family isn't?"

"That reminds me…"

He had been mulling over an exchange from the night before with Stu Hopps, and the fox could not hold it back any longer.

"What do your parents think… we are?"

Judy would have stopped dead in her tracks had it not been for the oncoming car that forced her into the grassy ditch alongside. There she finally went immobile, and turned to her partner, expected to see that sly smirk, the one she could always count on at the end of a long day at the precinct, or out getting a morning coffee before work, or even from across the room at headquarters, that dumb fox and that dumb look he was always giving her.

But Nick, for one of the few times since she had met the ne'er-do-well over a year ago, was stoic, patient, sans another quip to dispense or quirky thing of the world to point out. He was just there, and she was just _there_ , and what else was there to say?

He spoke again. "Last night, before we went to bed, your dad, he…" Nick glanced up at the sky, blinked, and returned his gaze to her, "he said something that made it sound like maybe he thought we were… more than just partners out here on a mission for work."

He swallowed. "Judy… what are we?"

She trembled under his words, and it was as though, for the first time since they had arrived in Bunnyburrow, everything else – their duty to patrol the festival, the details of the missing stock, Gideon's break-in, everything – felt far away, like it was a mystery already solved many days before, or weeks, maybe even months, and that for now, all that mattered was that, for the first time since their friendship budded on the heels of a missing mammal case, Nick Wilde was asking her about the deepest part of their bond.

And in that moment, she could only offer a few words.

"I don't know."

Which she wished she had not said. Not because it was not truly how she felt that day, standing in a ditch outside her hometown of Bunnyburrow while her best friend in this and any world looked at her pleadingly, bemusedly, trying to make sense of it all just as she was. The reason she coveted something other than the simplest, flippant of responses she could possibly muster was because, truly, it said everything and nothing all at once.

And that was what Nick sensed as well, what the fox took from the rabbit's browbeaten response to his sober query. An assent was one thing. Dissent was another. Irresolution, well, that was something else entirely, and it contained multitudes more capacious than any simple yes or no.

After another car passed, there was but one sound that lilted among the countryside: a buzz, dull at first, but with a rising din that sounded as if on cue, down to the very millisecond each time, predisposed as though tightly wound by a computer program that would not let it buzz otherwise.

And soon enough, Nick realized what it was.

"Carrots, your phone."

Judy blinked once, twice, a third time, before her paws snapped to her pocket, pulling out the indeed-ringing phone, which she had apparently set to mute. Without even a look at Nick, she unlocked the device and put it to her ear. "Dad?"

The fox watched as she nodded, gave a few OKs, widened and narrowed her eyes through the brief call. He could hear Stu Hopps on the other end, but only barely, certainly sans any understanding of what he was saying – just that whatever it was, it had caused him to speak hurriedly, much more so than Nick had ever heard the rabbit talk.

Judy paused for a few seconds after she hung up, and Nick was about to snap her to attention, fearing perhaps the worst, before she finally looked up at him.

"That was Dad," she spouted finally.

"I gathered. And?"

"They found out who stole everything the other night. He's in custody. It's Carl Pumaski."

xXxXxXx

It had taken a few months of patronage, but Gideon finally felt fairly welcome at The Icy Koala, the only coffee shop in town aside from if one counted the black suds one could purchase from the gas station up the road, which he most certainly did not.

In fact, it had gotten to the point where Sheila, the owner and a somewhat-out-of-her-environment koala herself, recognized him each time the fox arrived, as did her employees, and knew almost instinctively what to make: cappuccino, a little extra sugar added, but no frills otherwise.

Sometimes he took the beverage on the road with him, off to run this errand or make that delivery before returning home, while on some sweet days, he lounged at one of the scarce tables inside, picked up a magazine generally printed off in Zootopia and popped a squat for an hour or two, which was what his plan was presently. Judy and Nick were off to see the Thumpers, Stu was at the city hall – neither of which were places Gideon felt too enamored at the prospect of visiting by then. His pies were still sitting out at his vendor table, but by then, Constable Clover had placed one of his volunteer staff on duty patrolling the area, posted to ensure that no one's stock was tampered with. He felt at peace, more than what could be said for the previous night. Enjoy it a bit, he reckoned.

Gideon was so lost in his caffeine-addled stupor that he barely registered the bell signifying a visitor at the front door, nor how the visitor in question slunk immediately toward him, nor even, until the approaching figure was nearby, a smell the fox had sensed many times in his youth, though not for quite some time.

"Yer up early," breathed a contemptuous voice from behind him. "Wanna say hi?"

Even with a more whispered tone, Gideon, who had snapped back to reality, knew the name before he finished turning around.

"Mornin'," he said plainly, staring into a face that was a mess of twisted whiskers and matted brown and black fur, its ferret countenance upturned in a self-assured smirk, "Travis, old pal."


	7. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated on late Thursday/early Friday morning again. Guess that's my thing now.

_Dust swirls about the ground like a thousand tiny particles of matter akin to the aurora, thick swathes of curving dust trails lilting and flowing through the air via a wind typical for the season, rustling the branches of the trees that envelop but do not dot the threadbare patch of land where a baseball diamond sometimes stands, if a game has a reason to be played._

_Today it does not, but there is plenty to accomplish anyway. Bunnyburrow's Carrot Days Festival is in full swing, one of many the small rabbit hamlet hosts in a given year. Nearby the muffled sounds of games of chance, events broadcast and commentated over loudspeaker, cordial transactions between buyer and seller fill the air, but the sometimes-baseball field is far enough away from all that to seem a worthy retreat from the bustle of pomp and consumerism-fueled circumstance._

_Presently Gideon Grey reclines in one of the makeshift dugouts, sheltered from the clouds of dust that might otherwise rear up into his eyes, nose or mouth. He is impassive now, a paw rubbing his chin and occasionally working its way up to his nose. He smacks his lips a few times as though testing whether or not they still work correctly. They do, he decides, but they are a little numb all the same._

" _It doesn't look bad. She didn't get ya too good."_

_That is Travis Ferris, the ferret who sits cross-legged on the bench beside Gideon, eyeing the fox only briefly before nodding to himself, confident in his original assessment. He has been more talkative than the fox up to that point, perhaps a reassuring voice of reason more than anything. But he is also anxious to get back to the festival; it is not every day a rabbit catches a fox with his guard down so much as to kick him in the face._

_Gideon Grey does not like to let his guard down. He's a fox, he says, a predator, and anyone and everyone should fear him based not just on what he is, but also what he could be. And maybe that is the reason Travis is drawn to him, out of his reputation rather than a friendship that might have occurred naturally otherwise. In a schoolhouse no longer segregated between prey and predator animals, the fox is the only one in their class who seems to relish his standing as someone who might have once ate one of his classmates. Not that he ever would – he thinks – but it provides an air of security for the much smaller ferret, given he stays on Gideon's good side._

_Which is not hard to do. Pick on some bunnies or sheep, cause a little ruckus here and there, maybe throw in some petty theft for good measure, but hey, nothing that will necessitate more than a slap on the paw and a few missed recesses._

" _Don't matter," the fox mutters, still licking and smacking his lips. "I'm bleeding. She got me to bleed. Stupid bunny."_

" _Yeah, well, you got her good in the face," sneers Travis. "She won't be forgetting that one anytime soon. Or anyone who looks at her."_

_The fox sheaths and unsheathes the claws of his other paw while the other massages his cheek. "Yer right," he growls with a grimace. "Least I got these."_

" _She did get back the tickets, though," says the ferret, rolling his eyes. "What about it, Gideon? Go find someone else? S'long as_ she _ain't around…"_

_Standing finally, Gideon shoots Travis a conniving grin. "Shoot, I'm sure we can wrestle up somethin'."_

" _Uh," Travis raises one paw, "think you mean 'rustle'—"_

_Both of Gideon's claws are unsheathed this time._

"… _never mind."_

_The ferret hops off the dugout bench, and together the pair starts on their way back toward the festival. It is nearing evening by now, and it is the final day of the festivities, so their window of opportunity is closing. Travis often feels like he has to move twice as fast as Gideon to keep up with the bigger fox's lumbering steps, but he is comfortable all the same._

It's better _, he thinks_ , than going it alone, like the last few years.

" _Hey, Gideon?"_

" _Hm?" the fox responds gruffly._

" _We're… you know, pals, right?"_

_Gideon turns to gaze at the ferret beside him for a moment, then turns and shrugs nonchalantly. "Yeah. Never thought about it, but I guess we are."_

_He aims a side-eyed glare at his compatriot. "Just don't get mushy or tell anyone about it, unless you want the same scars the Hopps girl's got on her face now."_

" _Y-yes, sir," sputters Travis._

_All things considered, he is not having a bad day._

xXxXxXx

Sheila, the owner of The Icy Koala, did not think twice about what was going on at Gideon Grey's table. Why would she? Sure, the fox usually sat alone when he came in for his usual cappuccino – little extra sugar, but hold everything else – but hey, folks have friends. And while the koala professed to know just about everybody in the little town to which she had moved a few years prior given its previous lack of coffee joints ("Everyone here just _brews_ their own cup of Maxwell Horse? The nerve," she spat), even she had her limits, and that was fine.

What she did not accept most of the time was patronage without, you know, actually buying anything. So she set off on a little mission to remind some folks of the rules. Gently, of course. She was no savage.

"Sugar, you in here for the long haul?" she asked Gideon's guest, a ferret, who had pulled up a chair on the table's opposite side.

She caught him pre-sentence, a sneer – or so it appeared to her – spread across his muzzle. But it was followed with a sickly sweet, toothy smile. "Ah, yeah, hon, for a few minutes, I suppose."

"Y'want something then? I'd prefer it."

He waved a paw flippantly. "Black coffee's fine. Thank ya."

Gideon watched her go, hoping their eyes might meet, that Sheila would catch his pleading gaze and comprehend his unspoken appeal for help. But there she went, and here he was. Here _they_ were.

Travis smirked as he watched the koala leave, a glint in his eye. Then he turned his attention straight ahead, noticing that the fox in front of him was completely avoiding any and all eye contact, doing nothing but twirling a spoon in his drink in one paw, drumming the other quietly on the table and affixing his gaze to the magazine laid out underneath his coffee cup, its pages filled to the brim with photos from the most recent gala event in Zootopia or perhaps some candid snaps from some faraway beach.

"Readin' the fluff now?" the ferret observed. "I'd poke fun, but it's almost too easy. Thought those were for bunnies."

"Just a time killer," said the fox shortly, keeping his eyes glued to its pages. "What do you want, Travis? Cut to the chase."

For a moment, Travis feigned belittlement, shaking his head and spreading his arms out wide. "Gideon, Gideon," he said, clicking his tongue, "do I have to want something to even get the time of day from you? Can't I just say hello? Is that it, pal?"

The fox finally met the ferret's smarmy line of sight. "Knowing you," he spat, "yeah. Sounds 'bout right."

"Yer breaking my bleedin' heart, Gideon," Travis lamented, clutching his chest tightly with one paw. "Ripping it in two. And after all we've been through…"

"We ain't been through nothin' since high school."

"And what a shame that's been," the ferret said, counting the years with his paw. "Went from good times to, well, no times. No time for me for any of the other friends we picked up along the way." He paused. "You remember 'em, right? Tell me yer mind's not that far gone."

"I sure remember all the trouble y'all got in."

"You mean the trouble _you_ got in, too. Don't try and weasel yer way outta this one. No offense to Roland," he added.

Sheila brought Travis' drink, which he accepted with yet another of those saccharine smiles. "Settle the bill before you leave," the shop owner said curtly with a nod, and was off to collect a few dishes from a recently departed rabbit couple's table.

His drink was becoming lukewarm, so, choking down a few more words for the time being, Gideon downed a few gulps, wiping his chin and returning to the ferret, who had dipped a paw undecidedly into his own coffee to test its warmth. The heat was apparently too much and he whipped it out before it scalded him.

"Well," he said, shaking his paw to fan it with cooler air, "what do you have to say to that, Mr. High and Mighty? Mr. Too-Good-For-His-Old-Friends?"

"I say I moved on. Got a hobby. Which became a job. And I do that now. Sorry I didn't stick with a posse that wasn't going nowhere."

"Oh, we do just fine," said Travis, shrugging. "You'd've too, I reckon. Odd jobs, mostly. Maybe a few other… on-the-side sales, if you catch my drift. "He tugged at his own shirt proudly. "Part-time at the auto shop one town over, myself. How d'you like that?"

"Remind me to keep my truck repairs in-town."

Travis leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, still with that infernal smugness that betrayed his motive; Gideon could tell because of it there was something else to his visit, otherwise passive-aggressive small talk would have run its course minutes ago.

Finally: "Heard you got a prime sellin' spot at the festival this year."

Gideon sniffed. "Yup. When you put in hard work…"

"Save it." Travis cocked his head. "Guess I'm just surprised you'd do it at all."

"How many times do I gotta remind you about the business I run?"

"Right, like predators need anyone but themselves to turn a profit." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, paws cupping the sides of his chin. "No predator's sold at this festival any year, let alone gone to it, and we've been fine. But now that someone felt guilt, suddenly that makes it OK to forget the past?"

"What d'you mean?" asked the fox.

Travis' gaze followed a pair of sheep who walked by their table on their way in, watched them sit down, then turned back to Gideon. "Folks like that," he waved a paw at the sheep, "treat us like dirt for years. Sure, they let us in their schools, opened up the Carrot Days festival, this 'n' that. But you said it when we were younger: they don't give a darn about us, so why should we give a darn about them?"

He looked back at Gideon. His eyes were narrower now, more severe, sans their previous conceit. "Apologist, that's what you are," he muttered. "And you know what the worst of it is? Who do you think benefits here? Who's reapin' the benefits when y'all trudge yer little wagons up to yer little tent and sell yer pies or whatever? I'll bet you had to pay them just to get yer table. Ever do the math and see how much those Hopps folks yer all buddy-buddy with are payin'? And getting us preds in just shoots 'em more 'n' more cash. Ain't one of us on the board, though, is there? Who makes the decisions?"

"Carl Pumaski was trying to get on, I know," Gideon countered. "And the Hopps, Stu and Bonnie, they've got our interests in mind too, I swear it."

"Pumaski would be nice. But them bunnies? You really think they trust you after what you did to their daughter?"

Gideon's tapping against the table stopped. "Don't bring her into this."

The ferret smirked again. "Oh, what's the matter? Still mad about when she kicked you in the face?"

The edges around Gideon's eyesight blurred, as though he was watching some flashback scene in an introspective movie.

"Or are y'all cool now? Saw her come visit last night. She's lookin' nice." 

"Don't you…" Blurrier. Darker.

"Would be a shame if she got another scar somewhere else on her pretty little face. Maybe some of that glass from yer broken windows'll do the trick…"

Red.

Sheila heard the snarl from across the room, followed by the shattering of a ceramic mug – she knew the unmistakable sound, for she had carelessly dropped a few herself. But they had never been preceded by _that_ noise.

Gideon Grey's back was arched. He was breathing deeply, laboriously. His claws were unsheathed. His own mostly empty mug was intact, but on the opposite side, under the table, Travis' cup had shattered into a trio of pieces, splashing black liquid against the tiled floor – missing patrons, thankfully, including the ferret, but an ominous mess nonetheless.

"Tsk, tsk," Travis bemoaned, arms crossed and head shaking once. "Well," he announced, loud enough that every patron could hear – not that they would not have anyway; everyone's attention was turned to the ferret and the fox, "good thing he's payin'!"

He stalked toward the door, patting Gideon twice on the shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, pal," he said quietly. Winking once at Sheila, he sidled past and was out the open door a few moments later.

Next thing she knew, Sheila had a broom and a few paper towels in paw and was stepping toward Gideon's table. The fox laid both paws on the table before him, propping himself up as he caught his breath. He was vaguely aware that every pair of eyes in the shop was transfixed on him, but it had not quite hit him yet, at least not in a way that might incite coyness.

Not until Sheila spoke, that is.

"Settle your bill, and then I think you should leave."

The koala had not spoken loudly – some of the patrons in the back of the building may not have heard her – but it was enough for Gideon's ears and certainly snapped the fox back into the present day. He blinked and absentmindedly stuck a paw into his pocket to grab his wallet before he had even fully processed the enormity of the request.

As he rummaged through to find currency, it finally occurred to him that he was on the hook for Travis' drink as well – not that it was a steep expenditure, sure, but the very fresh memory floated back to him, as did others, like Sheila's words, the breaking mug… Travis…

Sheila pulled back a bit when he handed her the money, and immediately Gideon realized why: the fox's claws were still visible, in no danger of pricking the koala, but still… there. He dropped the cash into her still-open palm and tidied himself, brushing off his clothes, slicking the fur atop his head like his mother used to.

When he spoke again, his tone was low, almost guttural. "Miss," he said, looking up but unable to meet her eye at first, picking a spot on her gray-furred cheek, "I am so, so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

It was the koala who adjusted her own self to make sure he looked into her eyes. Gideon stared into a steadfast look, resilient in its disposition, but behind them, far away but just visible enough, the fear of a mammal who was startled by a fox. The fox. He. Him. Gideon.

And she did not have to say more. With a slow nod and turn on his heel, Gideon was off toward the door. He heard the creak of chairs against the tiled floor, searing against a silence so great one could hear the clack of the tiniest claws on the ground, as a way was made. Not that one had not been there already; simply, those who lay in the fox's path moved backward or to the side to accommodate than was actually necessary.

A mother pulled her two bunny children close as Gideon lumbered by, and fleetingly the fox drummed up an apology even to them – those two little rabbits, their eyes big with worry and confusion, wondering why their mom was shielding them with her paw from his person but also realizing that he had made that horrible sound, that growl, that roar. Rabbits did not make that sound. Prey did not. Predators did. _Foxes_ did.

Stepping out of shop, Gideon Grey resigned himself to two things: one, he would never visit The Icy Koala again, even if, by some divine miracle, he was not already banned for life. Two, there was no way in this world he was going to sell at the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. No way, no how.

Even he was a little scared of himself.

His first thought was to find Skip Clover. As the overseer of the whole festival, Gideon reasoned, he would be the right person to inform of his decision – that he would not sell at this year's festival, give the table to prey or someone like that, someone who won't do anything stupid. He figured he could pass the pies on to Stu and Bonnie, maybe make a couple of dollars but mostly head home, shut the blinds on the windows he hoped would have panes by then, get in bed, and maybe not come out for a few days.

He had lost control.

And the worst part about it? Though it had not happened to him in a very long time – high school, was it? – it did not feel foreign. What he felt inside himself, the feelings welling beneath the surface, bursting like a geyser at the last possible moment, gushing forth from his psyche into the real world – it felt a little right.

His phone had buzzed intermittently to announce a new text message, but Gideon had not noticed its incessant chirping until now. Fleetingly he thought to text Judy, to go to her, to tell her what had happened, to find a way forward.

So he was relieved, if only for a second, to see her name blinking on his screen to signify she had texted him first. Because, he realized, harkening back to his time in the coffee shop, Travis facing him like a sharp dagger aimed to pierce his heart, that his anger had only begun when _she_ was mentioned at all.

Judy Hopps had been an amazing friend to him, one he felt he did not deserve, certainly not the night before and definitely not now.

He decided whatever she had to say could wait.

Instead, he flipped open his phone and texted another number entirely.

"Hey, man, can we talk?"

xXxXxXx

"No response from Gideon," Judy Hopps murmured, shoving her phone back into the pocket of her blue jeans. "Not that we need him or anything, just wanted to let him know we might be a minute." She looked up at her partner. "Can you shoot him one too in a few minutes, maybe?"

"No can do, Carrots," said Nick Wilde. "Phone's dead." He wagged his device at her for good measure.

"Already? I told you stay off that thing."

"Hm. Just get me an outlet."

They were in the waiting room of Bunnyburrow's city hall, which, naturally, doubled as the front office, where Mayor Cotton's assistant Trevor sat behind his usual makeshift desk, thumbing through a few pictures on his phone. He had tried to buzz his boss a few times and had even shot her a text or two, but to no avail, and if there was anything the goat was, it was a strict follower of the rules the bunny mayor had laid out: no appointments without my express approval.

That was slightly frustrating, because Judy knew the mayor was upstairs, along with her father, who had initially relayed the news of Carl Pumaski's arrest right in that very room not long before. She did not know why he was there, especially with the clock ticking toward the start of the festival, but knew it could not be good news.

Normally Nick might not have minded the waiting, but his mind was preoccupied as he sat next to the rabbit, tapping a paw methodically against the armrest of the cushioned chair he had taken, eyes darting around the room for an electrical outlet and finally locating one against the wall a few paces away, behind a lamp table.

Nick Wilde did not fancy himself a worrier, but it had been an odd day, and it was barely past noon. Not long before, the fox had stepped onto a branch, so to speak, though he thought it more of a limb, maybe a twig barely connected to a tree. It had been on his mind for days, maybe weeks, a sensation with which he was unfamiliar, one he tried to push down again and again, burying it knee deep under a sea of charm, one-liners and the occasional moments where he actually focused on his job.

Except it had popped back up when he and Judy received the Bunnyburrow assignment. And it was becoming harder to shake, expedited tenfold after what may have been a simple off-the-cuff comment from her dad.

That was all it was, right? Off-the-cuff. Random. Meaning nothing.

He and Judy were… friends. Partners.

Nothing else.

Nothing… else?

Except, like the idiot he internally cursed himself for being, he brought it up on their way to see the Thumpers. Well, maybe casually mentioned was a better term? He could barely remember it anymore anyway; it was like a blur of emotion and memory, his thoughts intertwining with the poorly timed phone call Judy received moments later.

She had acted since like nothing had happened, and he had tried to do the same.

But her three words still encircled his brain, wrapping around his mind and burrowing deep inside, daring him to perform an exorcism.

" _I don't know."_

The fox yawned, covering his mouth with a paw as he leaned back in his chair, deceptively comfy, an orange-cushioned thing with four legs that might as well have been the most luxurious cot he could ever hope to sleep on. Nick was not tired per se – the caffeine had seen to that – but he did not mind the idea of an afternoon nap, either.

He eyed Judy beside him. Her legs did not touch the ground from the similar chair in which she sat – which was not out of the ordinary, Nick admitted – and she swung them, left then right, left then right, her head turned away from him, her paws braced against the edge of the seat as though bracing herself for imminent departure.

Which, it turned out, was a worthwhile idea, because after hearing two quick buzzes from Trevor's desk, the goat spoke, barely even bothering to look at them: "We're clear. Mayor will see you now."

As Judy expected, Stu Hopps was upstairs. As were two other folks, a brown-furred bunny and a black-wooled sheep, that she did not recognize. Then there was Mayor Cotton, seated behind her front desk. She gave only a quick nod to the fox and rabbit upon their arrival; the sheep was mid-sentence when they opened the office door. Nick noticed a flicker of perplexity when the other rabbit saw him specifically enter.

"Jude," Stu whispered, beckoning his daughter over. "C'mon. Sit down."

She did. There was just one spot on the couch available, but Nick did not mind standing.

After considering the sheep's long-winded speech, Mayor Cotton stood. As before, her ears were furled down her back, and today she wore a blue flannel like the one Judy usually donned in every way but color, and she had even tossed on a pair of boot cut jeans. It was clear this was not a usual occurrence, but then, neither was the festival, which she was expected to attend for the entire weekend.

"Judy Hopps. Nick Wilde," the mayor intoned, clasping her paws together and wringing them once. "Officers. I appreciate you coming up. Apologies for the formality downstairs; I didn't wish to interrupt this meeting with a phone call and my phone is on silent."

"S'fine," said Nick, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned against a nearby wall. "Anything you should fill us in on?"

The mayor glanced around at Stu, then the other visitors, and nodded. "I think the both of you know some of the story, but not long ago, Constable Clover arrested Carl Pumaski downstairs, not long after Carl and I had a… spirited discussion, I suppose, about this year's festival. Coincidental timing, I assure you, but he was taken into custody for the theft of the festival stock I mentioned to the two of you yesterday," she said, jerking her head at the fox and then Judy, "It was located in a utility barn behind his home in Serengeti Springs. Well, some of it, anyway. More was found in a storage closet at his car dealership on the edge of town."

"Was there a lead?" Judy questioned, resting her paws in her lap. "How did he get found out? Yesterday neither you nor Clover said they knew a thing."

"As I understand it, an anonymous tipoff was called in to the constable late last evening. He sent one of his volunteers to the dealership and found some of the stolen goods. It wasn't until later that we learned even more was at Carl's home."

Judy felt her father bristle against her arm, which barely touched his. He said nothing, and when she looked up at him for a split second almost on instinct, his face was stoic, unchanging. But she knew she had felt something.

"So, the bunny did his job," pointed out Nick. "Glad for him; he seemed pretty uninterested in the job before this morning. Touchdown for the little guy. Now," he said, smirking, "to what do we owe this festive little meeting in here?"

Mayor Cotton smiled sweetly. "Because of a dire misunderstanding, Mr. Wilde, let me assure you of that right here and now. I think, before Carl stormed up here, you had a brief discussion concerning some of our regulation sheets for predators selling at the festival this year?"

"Aha," Nick gestured sharply with his paw, "there it is. Never met that panther before today, but boy, he did seem mad."

"And understandably so." The mayor had turned from them, staring out into the small grassy lawn in front of the city hall that held little more than a single flagpole. "I regret signing off on them; I have no excuse other than a true, honest slip of the mind. The constable brought the master copy to me and, well, to be frank, he's done so for years without as much as a grammatical error on his final version. I suppose I slipped into a bad habit of premature satisfaction."

Nick stared.

"Miss Violet Lamberson over here," she said, addressing the sheep, who sat up and managed a smile, "originally crafted most of the copy used in our rules and regulations this year – she has a way with words, despite this, I promise – so I thought it best to enlist her help in drafting a new pamphlet. And right next to her," she pointed to the seated rabbit, "is Barney Thumper, who happens to be on the festival board with your father and mother, Judy. I believe you attended school with a few of his nieces and nephews… Barney, what were their names?"

"One of my brothers' kids, Benny's," Barney Thumper said in a slow, almost musical voice. "Blake, Belle, Bernice and Billy were your age, I reckon," he added, nodding to Judy.

"Those were my classmates, yeah," affirmed Judy quietly. She stole a quick glance at Nick, who had not noticed her motion; his eyes were on the ceiling, and he seemed to be considering something that she could not quite surmise.

Mayor Cotton began again: "So, Judy, your father and Mr. Thumper are here to help make sure we don't mess up our draft, which Miss Lamberson is writing, this time. We want to ensure that we get this right; while there are events at work concerning Carl Pumaski that are unfortunate, his appeal to me has not fallen on deaf ears."

Barney Thumper snorted. "Could hear 'im a mile away shouting about it, maybe someone could go deaf," he muttered. The mayor shot him a look, and he looked down, though his facial expression could not mask his discord.

"Well, I suppose that catches you up," the rabbit mayor mused, sitting back down at her desk. "Was there anything else you wanted to speak with me about? Else, I suppose you should get to your posts for the festivities tonight. No protests today just yet, but once word gets around about Carl, well… you understand, I'm sure."

Judy nodded. She glanced up again at Nick, whose eyes were still on the ceiling. But this time, the rabbit noticed one other thing: his ears. They were twitching.

"…Nick?"

The fox put up a paw to stop her, though his eyes did not leave the ceiling. His ears were twitching a little more now, and nearby, out of the corner of her eye, Judy saw Barney begin to do the same.

Then she heard it. A low rumble, that of a truck, maybe two – nothing fancy, most certainly; it sounded as though the engine had seen much better days. There was a clatter, too – she could not quite place it, but it reminded her of something being clanged together, something metallic or of a similar sort.

And there were voices. Cheers. Yells. Jeers.

There was a window behind Judy and her father, and to Nick's left, that opened up into a view toward the town square, which was flush with the many tents, platforms and bustle of the Fall Harvest Festival. Nick hurtled toward it, paws working the lock atop the window to open it up, finally working the contraption and tossing it upward, poking his head out into the warm sunlight.

Two trucks, that was how many there were. Each was a pickup truck that held at least three in the compartment and many more in the truck bed – perhaps eight or nine in each. They crowded against the sides of the partition, fists banging against the trucks' sides above the wheels. A few brandished baseball bats. They drove slowly, which made sense when Nick spotted the roof of one, on which a small creature stood, one arm raised in a triumphant arch.

Judy poured in beside him, edging her head out the window too. Both trucks were driving past them, toward the festival. She squinted and flopped one ear even further out the opening to try to surmise their shouts, their yelling.

But the fox was ahead of her. Once the trucks had rumbled close enough, it was actually quite clear to him: Boycott.

What was more: each truck was full of little weasels, ferrets, a feline or two – even, Nick noticed, a few foxes.

Judy, meanwhile, was transfixed on the figure standing atop the roof of one of the trucks.

That was her former classmate, Travis Ferris, Gideon Grey's old friend.

And someone from the truck bed had just passed him an object he now reared up to throw, something that had been lit on fire at one end.


	8. Down to the Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly update came a day early, oh dang.
> 
> I dunno how I feel about this thing as a finished product – it took a handful of rewrites – but I think I'm satisfied from a setup-for-future-things-that-will-happen perspective. At the very least, I think we're well over halfway through now. That's exciting! Halfway at the least, probably.

The Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival had a long, proud history of non-aggression. That was part of why the three-day festival held in a remote part of the countryside attracted so many visitors from the town and its surrounding areas. Even the occasional Zootopian made the hours-long train ride into town, even for just a day, despite the general understanding that it was a Bunnyburrow resident-centric event – not like they were going to check each and every person's ID, so long as you were not a predator. Not too many out-of-towners – the town had just one inn – but it was a spectacle all the same.

And why not? It was one of the few times of the year where some of the most succulent, delectable goods from the country's farmland could be sampled and even purchased fresh off the vine or from the soil. No one tended to complain about the food situation in Zootopia – in fact, its produce was actually quite good, propped up a bit by the fact that a chunk of it indeed came from a place like Bunnyburrow – but straight-from-the-source purchases could not be ignored as one of the most scintillating treats for a city slicker with a farm-to-table affinity, and the festival in Bunnyburrow was one of the best – granted you were a prey animal, of course.

That had been the main drawback. In older times, all such festivals were that way. The predators had their own, prey theirs. It was not necessarily dwelled upon too deeply – it just _was_. Tradition, certainly. Xenophobia, sure, though few would admit to it. Mostly tradition.

Things had changed, but Gideon Grey could not decide if it was for the better.

Initially, he welcomed the chance to attend the festival. The predators' local shindig in Foxgrove had lost its luster in recent years, though even in its heyday it paled in comparison to, say, Bunnyburrow's. More money to be made, certainly, but also a much better opportunity to expand the reach of one's business. The drawbacks, on paper, seemed limited, if even existent at all.

But Gideon had settled into a fine routine. His pies were mostly sold at the Hopps farm, meaning his relations with prey animals were curtailed significantly. He saw a few others, made some deliveries to the more accepting of the community and made it his business to be at least somewhat visible around town, but he did not kid himself: he lived near a town where half of its residents still carried fox repellent or at least kept a can or two around the house. He was a fox. He understood his standing in the community.

And anyway, predator admittance for the festival had set the fox on a path that led him to the outburst he figured may very well have sealed his fate as a ne'er-do-well in the eyes of Bunnyburrow for all his days, no matter how delicious he ever made his pies.

He had half a mind to pick up his things and leave, but Gideon had already decided to leave the fruits of his labor with Stu and Bonnie Hopps – granted, of course, they permitted it, which he did not foresee being an issue. It was how to tell them that presently worried him, because while they had not yet heard of what happened in The Icy Koala with his old friend Travis Ferris, they soon would, whether he told them or not.

However, Stu Hopps was nowhere to be found once Gideon re-entered the festival grounds. In fact, neither was anyone else.

The fox sniffed the air once. He turned to his left, then his right, and repeated the motion a few times over. It was true: the grounds were bereft of people, clearly occupied due to the abundance of tents, tables, booths and the like, but otherwise one would never guess a soul had been there all day – which Gideon knew was pointedly incorrect, because not an hour before, plenty had pulled their trucks into the nearby parking lot or walked in from town to begin unpacking. _Shoot_ , he thought, _festival itself starts in a few hours._

"What's goin' on?"

He hoped his voice, however whispered, might catch the attention of some wayward being in or near his presence, but Gideon soon realized two things instead.

One, he was alone. Completely. Utterly. Beyond all reason.

Two, may have been because of the growing din on the far edge of town, a cacophony Gideon sensed as a mix of raised voices and the purr of an engine, maybe two.

Finally, there was someone else: a bear, which he recognized from a brief foray over into their area as one of the vendors, loping toward the noise, which Gideon now realized was coming from off farther than even the main entrance, on its way to City Hall.

The bear noticed the fox's agape look and slowed her gait for just a moment. "What're you doing out here?" she panted, only slightly out of breath, wiping sweat from her brown-furred brow. "C'mon, this affects all of us!"

Gideon did not fancy himself a runner or really an athlete of any type, but he followed as closely behind the bear as he could in a brisk trot of his own as the noise grew louder, the unmistakable sound of an idling automobile engine swirling amid shouts mixed with more tempered conversation…

…and the mild crackle of a live flame.

The fox rounded the corner to the right of the festival entrance and beheld, at last, what appeared to be each and every person who had been at the Fall Harvest Festival for setup that morning, and perhaps then some, whether it be a vendor or festival organizers and volunteers. The latter could be made out only barely over the heads of spectating others, but through the hubbub Gideon witnessed Skip Clover, front and center, arms folded.

He did not want to push through, so Gideon found his way quickly to one edge of the crowd. From the corner of his eye he spotted two trucks – the idling noise, of course. One was painted a deep red, with the other a slightly faded jean blue. He wondered if the blue truck might, perchance, have a crudely-painted-on yellow stripe on its side, supposed to look like a thunderbolt but instead coming out as a messy zagged line that did not proclaim its owner as the tough guy he had hoped to be when a certain 16-year-old fox had painted it so many years ago.

Gideon shielded his eyes against the sunlight that beat unceremoniously down into his eyes, as many on his side of the situation had, too, done. Yes, there it was: the blue truck with the yellow stripe. It all made sense now. When Travis had left the coffee shop, the fox had barely registered the low purr of a truck that pulled away moments later and was completely gone by the time he, too, exited.

A blur of a rabbit brushed past him; Gideon, wits about him albeit delayed, recognized one of the fest volunteers, a bunny named Edmond, brandishing a fire extinguisher that was far too large for him but the only thing for the job anyway – well, except, apparently, the heel of Clover's boot, which had already done the job with which Edmond was tasked, it seemed.

"Told ya we didn't need it, Edmond," Clover said, spitting at the ground once. "Just some trash on fire. Nothin' more."

The rabbit unshouldered the great red cylinder, and it clattered to the ground, rolling across the dirt right to the feet of Travis Ferris, who barely registered its presence. The ferret had eyes only for Clover, and they were not pleasant.

The constable dared not bend over and pick up the now-burnt-up pieces of paper that lay in the dirt and grass around him – six or seven in all, but he motioned pointedly at them, and then to the ferret and his accomplices – most of whom Gideon acknowledged as old friends and acquaintances of his, there was Roland, Mike, Amy, yeah, gang was all here. "What," Clover boomed, and Gideon found his voice seemingly more focused, more determined, than it had any day prior, "are these?"

Travis stood astride a small collection of fellow ferrets, foxes, felines and the like, but he was centermost. His chest heaved; as he walked up, Gideon had seen him leap off the roof of one of the trucks, but there was more than slight fatigue in his movement. The scowl plastered across his face upturned into a grin, a little more than a sneer.

"You're right, probably won't do much good to try to read 'em now," glowered the ferret. "Those're some of the copies of that bogus rules sheet you sent around to all the predators selling at your festival this year." He spread his arms wide. "Wanted to let the good folks of Bunnyburrow know what we thought of 'em."

There was a little over a dozen predators in total facing off against what had become some of the rest of the town and even its visitors. It dawned on Gideon that two – Mike, the fellow fox who owned the blue truck, and then a jaguar from Serengeti Springs named Jarrod who had taken to hanging with their clique a little later into high school once he'd moved there – were holding wooden baseball bats, though both had stowed the long objects down at their side. He wondered what they had planned to do with them. Smashing mailboxes was one thing; they did that plenty as kids.

There were no mailboxes in sight.

Clover's eyes bore into Travis for a few moments longer in silence. "Don't see how that affects your ilk here," he rumbled. "Seeing as how you're not vending this festival."

"Preds gotta stick together. You understand, I'm sure."

The rabbit sniffed once. "If they don't like our rules, I hear that Foxgrove festival is just on the horizon. You might even break even."

"Yeah, because they aren't paying table fees, I bet," growled the weasel Roland, who flicked the lighter that had lit the projectiles on fire to begin with as though it was a personal tic.

Across the way, Gideon, still under shade of his paw, realized that Judy Hopps had appeared – she had come from the direction of the city hall, or so it seemed. Nick Wilde loomed behind her; his paws were in his pockets, frame relaxed a bit as he viewed the proceedings from behind his partner, who, in contrast, was dead set on the standoff. He watched her paw reach instinctively to where her belt might be, but pawed merely at fabric, there was nothing there.

Constable Clover remained cool, if not completely impassive. He spat once into the dirt and rubbed it into the ground with his boot. He glared again at the predators in front of him. "And settin' stuff on fire and bringin' baseball bats, that's sure gonna help your cause, ain't it?"

Jarrod gripped his bat tighter.

"And what's the meaning of this?"

Nick and Judy had run to the scene, but Mayor Cotton, certainly not as sprightly as the officers, had taken a little longer to make it from the second floor of City Hall down to the scene in front of the festival's main entrance. But she was there now, as was Barney Thumper, Violet Lamberson and, not long after, Judy's dad. He and Gideon locked eyes, and the rabbit nodded and moved around the crowd toward the fox.

The mayor spoke again: "What in tarnation is the problem here? Travis? Roland? Anyone?" Her arms were folded across her shirt, her voice as raised as Gideon could ever recall it being – which was still quite the dulcet tone, sure, but with an edge to which he was not accustomed.

Travis swallowed hard. Gideon was beginning to wonder what had even possessed his old friends to come in the first place; surely, there would not have been much time in between the ferret's departure from The Icy Koala and the scene here now. And he seemed to be faltering now; when he spoke again, now in the presence of the mayor, his voice was weaker.

"Y-you see, Mayor," the ferret stammered, "we got a hold of the rules sheets for the preds this morning…"

"Ah. And this seems like a rational response."

"And then you threw Carl Pumaski in the slammer!"

"Carl Pumaski has been transferred to the county holding facility for questioning," Clover stated. "For a crime evidence suggests he most certainly committed."

"Him?!" the ferret gazed, almost pleadingly at the constable. "Him, though?!"

"Evidence don't tend to lie."

Judy was watching the scene with poise, originally expecting to have needed to handle the situation before realizing Constable Clover was already on the case. She watched the volunteers alongside the constable – and, too, the folks behind them, including even some of the predator vendors – shift uncomfortably, and she could understand why; in a situation in which predator animals were already being victimized, she thought, this was not a good look for change.

She considered briefly telling Nick just that, but when she looked up, he was gone.

Her eyes darted around – semi-quick movements of her head, too, but not so much as to perhaps startle those around her. This was not a time for quick motions, even though she was almost certain no one was carrying a gun or anything of the sort.

The first thing she finally saw of him was his paws and the lower legs of his pants on the other side of one of the trucks – she could not see the rest of his body, but that was unmistakably Nick, inching up, ever so slightly, toward the opposing predators.

And then she realized why, though it happened so fast: in one quick motion she had warned herself against, the fox leapt from behind the truck and snatched the baseball bats from Mike and Jarrod – one, then the other; they had been standing vaguely near each other, just behind Travis, but their grip on the possible weapons was loose, clearly, since Nick had been able to grasp both so easily.

 _Sly fox_ , she thought, smiling just a little.

Jarrod, the jaguar, threw up his paws at once in alarm and backed away, caught by surprise, but Mike the fox could not help but aim a particularly potent growl at his fellow vulpine creature, though he stopped almost immediately when he realized he was looking back into the triumphant eyes of someone like him, someone who gave an innocent shrug right back.

"We w-weren't gonna actually use 'em, honest," Jarrod called, head darting back and forth between Nick and the mayor. "Oh, jeez, please don't tell my parents!"

"Pipe down, jeez," growled Mike, his eyes still on Nick.

At the front of the group, Travis ran a paw against his head, right on the temple, massaging the point with his eyes closed. They snapped back open and he turned to the mayor. "No, no, he's right, we weren't," he entreated quickly. "For show. I promise. You know I'd never actually _hurt_ anyone, Miss – I mean, Mayor Cotton."

The mayor shifted her weight onto her other leg. "That doesn't look too good on anyone, Mr. Ferris," she mused. "Especially not someone like yourselves. You had to know that going in."

Nick winced. _Someone like yourselves_. Not the word choice he would have gone with.

Travis blinked, mouth open. "You're sayin'… because I'm a…"

"It doesn't _matter_ ," Cotton said. "My office is always open, Mr. Ferris, but I've never seen you. Or _any_ of you."

"Because you –"

"Mayor!" interjected Judy, stopping Travis, who closed his mouth. The rabbit whirled around to the mayor, her paws outstretched, palms down. "Can I… may I…"

The bunny mayor looked as though she might say something else, but seemed to think better of it, spreading her arms as though to permit progress.

Judy did not take the time to thank the mayor. Taking a deep breath, she, paws clenched determinedly, walked out into the dirt-and-grass space in between where Clover and Travis stood off.

Nick joined Gideon and now Stu Hopps at the other end of the crowd, two baseball bats in paw.

"Know what she's doin'?" Gideon whispered to the fox. 

"Probably something either unnecessarily brave or unnecessarily stupid. Realistically, both. Not that," he glanced down at the bats he held, "I have room to talk."

 _Well,_ he thought, thinking back to the time spent on the road to the Thumpers, _and that other thing, too._

And to be fair, Judy herself was not sure of what she was about to try to accomplish. Her mind raced a thousand miles a second, poring rapidly over scenario after scenario, popping possible responses into place like puzzle pieces. She felt almost naked without her utility belt, which might have held some sort of protection against something, but hey, Chief Bogo's rules.

Finally: "Hey, Travis. Been a while."

The ferret offered a meek "Hey," but nothing more. It had been years since they had been an arm's length or two apart from each other – not since high school – let alone spoken.

"How are things? How's the family?"

"They're… fine."

"Hopps, I don't –"

Judy turned on Travis and aimed a look at Skip Clover, who had begun to speak himself. He ceased, though with a begrudging glare.

"Travis…" the bunny started again, swiveling back around, "this whole thing sucks, doesn't it?"

The ferret swallowed, but said nothing.

"This whole thing, this whole situation, this is terrible," she said again, this time loud enough that nearly everyone around could hear. "It's just… no good."

She could feel Nick's gaze on her before she even looked toward him. His eyes said everything: what in the heck are you doing, Carrots? She had no answer for them.

"Everyone, do you realize how much of this sort of thing used to happen in Zootopia every day?" she questioned. "Predators vs. prey, prey vs. predator. Stupid rules, silly regulations. Nick," she called, "how many times did you try to get a jumbo pop from the elephants' ice cream place but were turned down because you weren't one of them?"

"Almost every day."

"And how fair was that?"

"Well, I absolutely, positively never got a jumbo pop, not once in my life, definitely not, so there's that."

She would have given him a sock to the side, but he was too far away.

Judy continued, "Here's the deal, though: we _tried_ to get through it all. We _tried_ to make that city a better place even though that sort of thing happened every day. And you know what?" she grinned. "We didn't fix it. We never will. But that's not the point.

"The point is, when this sort of stuff gets us down, pits us against each other, do we fight? Yell? Scream? Square off in some field? Pull out baseball bats and act like we're gonna hit something other than a mailbox with them?" She shot a look at Mike, who scowled back. "No. We fix our problems the right way, even if," and this look was directed at Clover, "someone might've started it off all wrong."

"Judy," Travis said at last. Whatever gusto he once had seemed to have been sucked from him, or at least had burrowed deep somewhere in his psyche. "It's not… the rules aren't… Mr. Pumaski wasn't supposed to…"

The rabbit officer stared. "He wasn't supposed to… what?"

Grunting, the constable took a step forward. "She's right," he said, and there was still that begrudging tone, the sound of a man who had clear discontent for the situation but at least valued its principles – or did not want to fight that very battle. "We oughta talk. Somewhere else."

The ferret blinked at the rabbit across from him. Their eyes met. He nodded sluggishly.

Clover nodded briskly to the other animals who flanked him on either side. Then: "Miss Cotton, let's discuss the rules for this year's festival, shall we?"

"Down to the wire," muttered Nick.

The next half hour went by quickly for Judy especially. At first she watched as the mayor announced to the crowd of festival vendors that they would consider changes to the rules sheet and to go about business as usual. Then came being whisked away to City Hall for no apparent reason other than to simply _be_ there while Cotton, Clover and anyone else present from the festival council met within the mayor's office to pore over the vendor rules sheet – though not before she participated in, or really more accurately sat in on, a meeting outside in which, against many odds, Travis and his posse were allowed to leave, granted, of course, they did not return for the duration of the festival.

But why was _she_ there? Her father she understood; Stu was on the committee that planned the festival, after all, and was even instrumental in allowing predator access to begin with that year. She, on the other paw, sat once again inside the city hall front office, in that same chair, waving those same legs eagerly while that same personal assistant thumbed through the same phone.

The rabbit felt queasy, sick to her stomach, as though something buried deep inside her threatened to rise up and spill forth in a completely unsavory manner. She had validated her current location based on the idea that perhaps her input would be necessary if the mayor allowed it, but everything else made little sense. She – Judy Hopps, the little police officer so many in her town had written off as some wide-eyed kid who, if she ever made it to Zootopia's police department would be little more than a meter maid – had successfully quelled what otherwise appeared to be open rebellion just hours before one of the town's biggest boons of each year.

But a few things bothered her.

First was the stare Travis gave her, and then Clover, before he climbed back into his truck to leave for the day. There was something in his look, his stern gaze that burrowed deep inside her, burning, as though it may pop out through the other end, that, frankly, unsettled her. It was not malicious, per se, but there was no friendliness either. The moment was made stranger by her father's declaration, as they climbed the path to City Hall, that Gideon had sheepishly told him he and Travis had gotten into some sort of fight right before the standoff, and that something certainly felt off about the fox.

Then, well, Belle Thumper was back.

Judy did not know why she was there; as far as she was aware, the Thumper family had never sold any of its produce at the Fall Harvest Festival, though perhaps times had changed. Regardless, she was the only Thumper aside from her uncle Judy saw, and it happened in what should have been – and initially was – one of the more relieving moments of her life.

Nick was beside her shortly after Clover's declaration to the mayor that they would work on the rules sheet. Her dad was there after. And then others, more, finally a small crowd of people – far from everyone there, of course, but a formidable number, perhaps a dozen and a half. Carrie Woolington, Larry Goatsby, all had a pat for her back and a few kind words for her pride – after all, Larry in particular said, she had done what even the town constable could not: diffuse some tension.

Yet through the teeming mass of mammals that surrounded her, and even among another larger group that had gone their separate ways, walking off in different directions here and there, back toward the festival or maybe to the parking lot, there was Belle, standing, staring straight ahead, directly at her.

Their gazes intertwined finally, and immediately Judy felt almost a burning sensation, a sting, a searing pain in her skull – that was how Belle Thumper's scowl affected her, from the profundity of its intense disapproval and sheer malevolence. Belle merely shook her head at Judy after a few seconds, somehow maintaining eye contact even as others occasionally blocked their view, then began to turn. Judy's dad stepped in front of her shortly thereafter to ruffle the fur atop her head lovingly, and by the time he had moved again, she was gone.

She heard the now-familiar creak of the front door to City Hall and her ears perked up, initially not realizing the incoming visitor was coming from outside rather than in.

Nick Wilde stepped inside, brushing down his green shirt and glancing around before spotting Judy sitting in the waiting area nearby. "Didn't expect to see you down here," he breathed, making his way over. "What's up? Why'd they take you away?"

The bunny could only offer a shrug. "What've you been up to?"

"What Bogo brought us down here to do to begin with," the fox said. "Or… _were_ to do, I guess." He jerked his head toward the building's side parking lot. "Looks like reinforcements are here."

"What…?"

It was Nick's turn to shrug. "Dunno. County police, I'll tell ya that. Bet you someone called them down once stuff started hitting the fan. Or maybe…" He snapped his fingers. "Right, Pumaski, they were here for that already."

Judy cocked her head. "So you think they're staying?"

"Carrots," said Nick with a grin, "first a big ol' predator storms into the mayor's office and is arrested shortly after for theft. Then two mangy pickup trucks holding a couple highly pissed-off predators come rolling in wielding pitchforks – OK, no, not pitchforks, but they might as well have, you guys have those around here in bulk, right? Pitchfork store? Anyway, you think two cops from Zootopia are gonna cut it anymore in the mayor's eyes?"

"Should just make Clover actually do his job," she huffed.

"Then that would make three, which still probably isn't ideal to the casual observer. Let Sheriff Stick-in-the-Mud have the fun he supposedly has at these things," Nick scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Besides, after the rules misunderstanding gets cleared up…"

"Maybe…"

"What?" said Nick incredulously. "You think they won't change anything?"

Judy stared up at the ceiling, where, above them, talks were undoubtedly proceeding. "I'm… not so sure. Have this feeling."

They stood and sat in silence for a few moments, before Judy finally spoke again: "Anyway, why are you here?"

Nick clapped his paws together. "Right! Right. Phone's still charging in here, remember?"

Shifting her weight against the chair, Judy finally spied the little white cord sticking out of the lone power outlet visible, which Nick was now disconnecting, phone in hand. He tapped the screen a few times, and for a fleeting moment Judy saw the fox's eyes widen, eyebrows raise, before quickly shrugging off the sentiment and returning to their usual dim-eyed setup.

"By the way," he called, still thumbing through his phone, "about earlier…" he stole a glance at Trevor, the receptionist, who had barely acknowledged them, "…forget I said anything, OK?"

"I…"

"Wasn't thinking right," the fox said, shaking his head, but still refusing to look up from his phone and its many diversions. "Probably the case. Now that that's done, I'm… I mean, look, I get it. Friends. Partners." He looked at her finally, and in his eyes Judy saw nothing but gravity. "That's what you meant, right? 'I don't know'? Caught you off guard, didn't it?"

A million things already weighed on Judy Hopps' mind, and this just added to the pile. The bunny had nearly been able to successfully push away the _question_ , that thing from earlier, on the way to the Thumper farmstead, but here it was, back again – except now Nick was… changing his tune? Diverging?

Jettisoning the very thing he claimed had been building up inside him for the past few weeks, even months?

The fox took a few steps toward her, shoving the phone and its charger back into his pocket. "So, yeah." His voice was chipper. "I'm gonna go talk to these officers outside and introduce myself, see how this whole thing'll work out. Then maybe I'll pop over to the festival, see if your dad needs any more help. If there's time left over afterward, we can always go find that ol' Longfellow boyfriend of yours—"

He had not expected the kiss. Neither of them did, really, but least of all Nick. Rabbits were _fast_ , he knew that, but the speed with which Judy lifted herself onto the chair, stood on its cushion and awkwardly grabbed his face with her paws caught even Zootopia's first fox police officer off guard.

Or maybe he had initiated it? He could not tell, or even recall much after the fact – little outside of, yes, this was happening, this was definitely a thing that was happening, and it was a thing he did not mind happening one bit.

It was not a long one, anyway. For once in their lives, Judy and Nick were on the same level, same playing field, same line of vision. He had to hand it to her, though, the bunny certainly went for it; it was no innocent peck on the cheek, not even a miniscule embrace in which their lips barely brushed. Judy Hopps, he decided, played for keeps.

A noisy thud broke them apart, and Judy scrambled off the chair and onto the floor, nearly tripping over one of the chair's arms in the process. Nick, relieved from his momentary stupor, reeled to his left.

Trevor had dropped his phone against the table. Quickly he had snatched it back up, though he was still fumbling with his grip on it once their eyes found him, concentrating hard to make it look like he had just dropped his phone because, you know, things like that will happen, clumsy me, certainly not because a fox and a rabbit just suddenly _kissed_ in front of me, not that one bit.

In the months leading up to that day, Nick had not once seen Judy's nose twitch in his presence, certainly not while he was paying attention, but he could not avoid that, as his partner beside him absentmindedly smoothed out her clothing, brushing herself off, for whatever reason deciding to check for dirt on her shoulder in that very moment of all moments, the center of her face was practically contorting.

And for once in his life, Nick Wilde did not have a clever retort.

"So…" the fox started, still collecting his wits, "uh, guess I'll… go do that thing… with the officers… yeah. You'll be here?"

"Yeah," whispered Judy meekly in a tone even a predator with hearing such as Nick could barely register.

"Yeah. Good. Be here," he held out his paws. "Stay. I mean… no, not stay, I… oh, whatever." He turned on his heel, waving his phone in the air as he departed. "Text me when you get out. Or don't. Whatever. I'll have my people call your people, we'll meet up later –"

Nick had never been so relieved in any point in his life more than when he finally stepped out of the Bunnyburrow City Hall front door and heard it slam behind him. There were indeed cops out front, four or five – he could not quite remember because, though he had suggested otherwise, his mind was not quite yet on the prospect of making small talk with some county officers send down to get involved in a town with a possible prejudice problem.

For the last few years of his life, since he had obtained a smartphone, he had taken to checking it religiously when he was alone like a junkie needing his fix – even when there was nothing to see on the screen, no new update from a long-lost friend or acquaintance, no picture from some brand's social media account wishing he was there (wherever _there_ was), no text from someone in town wanting something. And right then and there, the fox decided, was a prime time to rummage through his phone like he never had before – perhaps he would comment on each and every status update he could find, perhaps with emoji inappropriate for the situation, maybe not, the world was his for the taking.

Except once he checked his first item – his text inbox – he remembered the message he had seen just minutes prior, one that caught him by surprise since it was from a new number, one he had just entered into his phone not long before, and certainly from one he did not expect to see that day or any day anyway.

But there it was: "Hey, man. Can we talk?"

He did not even give pause to the situation, for any place was better than there, even as the nearby cops seemed to recognize the fox cop everyone had been talking about and were walking toward him.

"Sure," he texted Gideon Grey. "Where at?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're sitting here thinking, "Yeah, but how much good did Judy's speech ~actually~ do, you're gonna want to check out the next chapter.
> 
> WHERE THINGS WILL ACTUALLY HAPPEN THIS TIME
> 
> I PROMISE
> 
> WE NEEDED THIS ONE TO BE A LITTLE ON THE TAME SIDE I SWEAR IT


	9. A Fox Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babies
> 
> I have things to say about this chapter at the end, but ugh, glad to have finally updated.

Bunnyburrow did not utilize the old baseball diamond much anymore. This was mostly due to the town securing the funds to build a newer, updated complex a little ways down the road that could hold more spectators and even contest two games at once. But its chief design flaw remained, even after multiple attempts to rectify the situation, that it had a bit of an issue with water drainage, so after potent rainstorms the league relented and returned to the old field, which, as the purists pointed out, never had that problem.

But usually it was empty, the white paint that coated its covered dugouts peeling and chipping against the elements, its wooden benches splintery as ever. Yet the place had a standing reputation amid townsfolk as a quiet spot, one where someone could sit and read, think or simply reflect without outside intrusion or interruption.

At least that was how Gideon Grey viewed the place. He knew its location after a few less-than-stellar attempts at sports participation as a kit, then as a hangout for he and a few ruffians during the annual Carrot Days festival, and later merely as one of the only spots in town where – again, unless the new field was flooded once more – he would remain unbothered.

Except, he thought as he peered a figure appearing on the horizon, he planned to be today.

"Some place you got here," Nick Wilde greeted with a smirk as he slumped onto the bench beside his fellow fox. "How's the rent? Can you ask that here? It's sometimes a little intrusive back home."

Gideon chuckled and patted the old wooden surface. "Free, as long as you don't mind the occasional fly ball."

"And splinters," added Nick with a wince, already picking one from his paw.

"Yeah, you gotta watch those," he sighed. "So… uh, how're things back at the festival now?"

Nick paused to think for a couple of moments, gazing out over the dusty field, white lines marking regulation baseball rules faded from rain and time, glancing over the little white tents one could spot through the trees from their vantage point.

"Back to business," he started, "I guess. You can feel a little more tension in the air now, but I think with the opening coming up, folks are trying to keep their minds off it."

"That's some of their wellbeing tied up in making money here," Gideon observed. "So I ain't surprised."

Nick shrugged. "Suppose that's right." He cocked his head. "Judy didn't think they were actually gonna change the rules for the preds, though."

"Y'think?"

"The woman's got a point, to be fair. One pred gets arrested after storming the mayor's office, another dozen or so threaten to bludgeon the bejeezus outta things in town. If the mayor does an about-face and says, 'Oh, yeah, this is fine,' and gives them _more_ freedom, well…"

The other fox snorted. "The old timers wouldn't let 'em hear the end of it."

"I hear that."

The ensuing silence weighed on Gideon a little, and his paws drummed tensely against the bench as he peered out over the diamond before him. There was much he wanted to say, but the fox had never fancied himself a prolific speaker, certainly not one who gushed forth his thoughts and feelings like a bountiful stream. When he first texted Nick to begin with, he figured he would meet him at home – that was where his resolve was taking him at that point – but the standoff and its consequent fracas had thrown him off a bit, not to mention the brief conversation he had with Stu Hopps shortly after.

"Told Stu I wasn't sellin' anymore," he said finally. "Lettin' him take my stock. Said he didn't mind but that I should think about it."

Nick turned. "…uh, OK, why wouldn't you sell them yourself, though? You've got your own table."

"…Nick, I… have you ever lost control?"

His words cut through the air when they finally spilled forth, and Nick was not sure how to respond – mostly because he was not even sure what Gideon meant. Nick Wilde could think of plenty of times when he had lost control of something – they usually involved alcohol, and mostly he had been in his twenties. Or perhaps there were his forays into Tundra Town and its wide selection of delicacies that Nick could evade and oftentimes decided to indulge himself with.

But he had the feeling Gideon was not asking him for advice in terms of sound alcohol consumption.

Nick shook his head at last. "Buddy, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

It took Gideon a few moments to collect his thoughts again; he was planning them carefully, as though he thought divulging them might act as incriminating evidence in some trial that may befall him, one where Travis was the prosecution, and Sheila from the Icy Koala its judge…

"I mean, like, well… y'remember the night howler case when all those predators went savage?"

"Wasn't even a year ago, so sure."

"That didn't happen to 'em because they were who they were, but because of whatever serum the mayor cooked up with the flowers," the fox recalled. "At least that's what I heard on the news. But… we both know it ain't ever just night howlers that make you go… that way."

He turned to Nick, who was eyeing him with intent, following every word. "Earlier today, I… well, Travis came by while I was at the coffee shop and he said some things that really got to me. Made me mad, really mad. And everything just…"

"…went red."

Gideon leaned back, visibly surprised, his eyes widened, nodding.

The other fox rubbed the back of his neck and stood up, leaning against the metal bars that separated the dugout from the playing field. "And then before you knew it, everyone was staring at you like you'd done something awful."

Another nod and a hard swallow.

Nick checked his phone once, scanned the scene in front of him and sighed, resting his elbows against the metal rail and then his chin in his paws.

"It was about five years ago," he began, "couple of weeks before my birthday. Finnick and I – friend of mine, doubt Judy mentioned him – decided, the hell with it, we're going to this spot in Downtown on Lionheart Avenue, even though most predators in Zootopia steer clear of there. It's got this section where a lot of the smaller folk go drink, have a good time, whatever. We figured we would still fit in just fine size-wise, especially Fin. Think we had a little liquid courage to help us along," he added with a small chuckle. 

"Well, some pig – and he really was a pig, mind you, I'm not just throwing the word around – didn't like that we were hanging around. Said some nasty things about foxes; he'd had more than a few, though I can imagine him saying the same things in the comfort of his own abode if it came to it."

"Judy told me you're real good at deflecting that sorta thing, though…" Gideon interjected.

"I am," Nick craned his neck and flashed a smile. "Best in the biz." He re-faced forward. "But then he… brought up Mom."

Gideon heard Nick swallow, then continue.

"My mom did what she could to keep me alive. To keep our family afloat. Worked a lot of jobs, sometimes all at once, made money whatever way she found it. Of course I didn't realize the trouble she went through until later on. She hid it well when I was younger, I thought we were just like any other family on the block – I think a lot of kids do, you know? Until you grow old enough that the differences – the haves and the have-nots especially – become clearer.

"Anyway, that pig made some comments about Mom that… that he could've never actually known, because that's the thing with insults, some just get under anyone's skin whether they're really true or not, because no one wants their name sullied that way. And I'll spare you the details, because it's petty in the end, but I suppose sometimes there are some people in our lives we decide are worth fighting for, whether it's family, friends, whatever – and we'll feel the need to protect them at all costs, until the very end."

"I'm with you there," agreed Gideon with an enthusiastic nod. "Maybe it's a fox thing."

Nick bared his teeth in a wide grin. "Territorial. Instinct. Who knows, maybe, Gid. I didn't go to school for that, and I sure didn't make up the stereotypes you and I have to face each day. But maybe it _is_ about who we care for the most."

Gideon formed a picture of a certain animal, much smaller than he, in his mind.

"So…" he asked. "What happened?"

Nick shrugged and looked back over the field. "Dunno, really," he said. "Fin says I slashed the dude's face, but I don't remember it. All I recall is feeling something deep inside that made me want to… OK, to slash the dude in the face." He smiled. "Maybe there was some part of my conscience involved there after all, but we'll leave that to a court of law."

After lingering there a while longer, he slapped the rail and smirked at his acquaintance. "So, there you have it, the time Nick Wilde went savage, or whatever some pred-fearing activist would call it. I chalk it up to a bout of anger management that didn't quite get managed. What do you think, doc? Am I gonna be OK?"

Gideon laughed at Nick's pleading, pitiful gaze, slapping his knee. "I dunno," he chuckled. "Prob'ly should lock ya up to be safe."

"Fine. Tell Judy she can have my jazz records. But not the player. She's on her own there."

The baker wrinkled his nose a bit. "Judy," he repeated. "That's… can I tell ya somethin' else, Nick?"

"Fine, while we're all oversharing, why not?"

"But you gotta keep it quiet, man, I mean it."

Making a zipping motion over his muzzle, Nick nodded reassuringly.

"I think Judy's the reason it happened," the fox gushed, eyes shut tight as though it was the most delectable secret one could give up. "And I don't know why."

The other fox cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I reckon it sounds like what happened to you sorta happened to me."

"Go on."

"Travis said somethin' about Judy, and in my mind she was in danger – maybe she was, maybe she wasn't, I'm really not sure what he's plannin' – and it set me off." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

"Sure."

"I… I growled at him. Snarled. I broke a coffee mug. I scared kids, I think."

"Right."

Gideon was alarmed at the fox's nonchalance. "So why did it happen?" he exclaimed. "That ain't happened since I was some dumb kit who hated the entire world."

"It's called having a friend, Gideon."

"Y'think that's all?" the fox blinked.

Nick smiled, returned to the bench and patted the other on the shoulder calmingly. "Promise. Look, I thought it was weird at first to be friends with a bunny too, but there's something about that gal…"

"I was worried maybe I had some sorta, y'know, _crush_ on her or somethin'."

If Gideon had paid close attention, he would have noticed the split second's hesitation etched onto Nick's face one that seemed to the fox cop like it lasted an eternity in comparison, and he cursed himself internally for allowing such a lapse at all. Instead, Gideon's first recollection was Nick's paw cuffing his own knee, then Gideon's, in ebullient, uninhibited laughter.

"A fox and a rabbit!" the cop exclaimed. "Ha!" He decided to pretend to wipe a few tears out of his eye for good measure. "That's a good one, Gid."

Then he sobered his expression. "Do you enjoy the company of other mammals outside the gene pool often?"

"No…" Gideon countered. His cheeks were burning.

"Never sought out the company of a lady – or a gentleman, I don't know you that well – no matter the species?"

"Naw…"

Nick crawled onto his knees on the bench, ignoring the pocket of splinters that set into his leg, laying one paw on the other fox's shoulder. "You sure? We're all friends here."

"It's not like that with Judy!"

Straightening his back, Nick spread his arms wide. "Then, pal, I think you answered your own question."

"Right…" Gideon trailed off, staring down at the dirt ground. "Plate-onic, or whatever the TV calls it."

"Close enough."

His eyes darted to Nick. "That's OK with you, right?"

"Hm?"

"Her and I bein'… friends."

Sensing that Nick did not quite catch his drift, he continued: "I just mean, like, yer not the only fox she's got, and maybe you'd… I dunno, forget I said anything."

"No, no, please."

"I dunno, man, I was worried to meet you at first," Gideon laughed timidly. "Seems crazy now, but I didn't know if… shoot, guess there goes that territory thing again."

"Heh. Same."

Gideon blinked. "Y'serious?"

Nick sat back down on the bench, but shifted his paws onto the wood as well and nestled his elbows on his knees. "I don't get to meet too many other foxes," he said. "Let alone the one who knew Judy first."

He paused and gazed back toward the field again. "And I'm kinda jealous about that."

"OK, now it's my turn to not follow," the other fox replied with a grin.

Nick exhaled through his nose and gave Gideon a sideward glance, smirking. "You got to meet Carrots first," he explained. "And in a way, maybe you helped, I don't know, strengthen her resolve to even _be_ a cop. If she hadn't, who knows if we ever would've met, and if I'd be in the position I am now, with a real job, people who are proud of me and, why not, an actual ride-till-we-die friend. I never had one of those. Not even Fin."

"Then let me counter here…" Gideon leaned back against the bench's back, arms stretched and reclined around his head. "You helped her to realize foxes ain't all bad. You showed her we're more than shifty—"

"We _are_ shifty, though. I sure am."

"—OK, more than criminals, or former carnivores that think with our teeth and pick fights with little bunnies. I… sorta always wanted to be able to do that," he said, emboldened. "Since I was the one who started it all. But you beat me to it."

Nick raised a paw, balled it up and offered it forward. "To being unnecessarily jealous of each other, then." Gideon did not recognize the proposition of a fist bump at first, but soon understood and returned it graciously and with a smile.

"So," Nick pulled himself back into a more conventional sitting position, "the festival. What're you gonna do?"

The baker fox sighed deeply. "Heck, Nick, it's embarrassing. I dunno."

"Well, you want my thoughts on the matter?"

After noting Gideon's nod, Nick crossed his arms and stared upward, as though the rickety wooden roof of the dugout held all the answers in the world. "If you don't see yourself for anything more than what they do, then they've got no reason to change," he said, "and neither do you. It's why I did what I did for so many years. I didn't think I was ever going to climb out of that hole, to exceed society's expectations.

"But I was wrong. It took Judy and the case to help me realize it, but we're not always predisposed to being what our ancestors were, and what theirs were. Every week in Zootopia, someone becomes the first in their family to graduate college. Someone celebrates the anniversary of a business they were told would never open, let alone last. Some dumb fox makes it onto the police squad." His grin, for one of the few times up to then in Nick Wilde's life, was warm and encouraging, not a hit of insincerity. "Sometimes you just gotta show 'em you're more than what they think you are. And speaking from experience, it's very, very gratifying."

Internally, Gideon could not help but feel a deep admiration for the fox he had been so anxious to meet, the one he envied so deeply after watching tales of his exploits on his family's nearly busted television set. In some way he was everything Gideon hoped he could become – still unapologetically himself, yet with the added bonus of moving others to forget his past and what had highlighted his life up to then. Changing, yet not changing.

"And y'think I can do it?" he questioned. "I mean, look, Judy wasn't the only face I slashed as a kit. She wasn't the only one I hurt. The Thumpers? Judy might've put the past in the past, but them folks _hate_ me. Even now. And today, I feel like I took two more steps back at the coffee shop. Those people there think I'm just another predator with an anger problem, a country bumpkin who's best left to his own kind, not minglin' with all them." He shrugged. "Pies can only get ya so far, I reckon."

"Well, pal," Nick laid another paw on Gideon's shoulder – and kept it there this time. "I'm not here for much longer, but Judy and I will do whatever we can to help you redeem yourself at least from that little fiasco this morning. It won't be much, but it's something."

"I appreciate that." He smiled. "Really. You and Judy both, yer… I guess, through it all, I'm glad to have both of ya in my corner."

Nick adopted a haughty demeanor. "We _are_ quite the team, obviously."

"Yeah…" Gideon began, "…y'sure are. Shoot, I went to school with her practic'ly all our lives, and I never saw her click with someone like she does with ya, Nick. She must think the world of ya."

This time around, Gideon happened to notice the flicker of discomfiture on Nick's face, the brief but palpable indication of unease that popped up only when he mentioned the bunny's name, and there was Nick, gaze directed to the side, for once seemingly bashful, unable to pipe up with a retort or quick counter.

"Hey, I…"

He stopped, because Nick had opened his mouth to speak, and in his eyes Gideon saw a burning surety, the look of a man who had finally worked up the resolve to discuss something he might not have otherwise disclosed…

"Thought I'd find you here!"

Bonnie Hopps prided herself on being particularly light on her feet, or at least she took quiet steps; when some of her oldest kids were younger, she would lead them – Judy included – in an ambush of their father while he hammered away at something out in the barn or inattentively piled laundry into one of their washers and dryers downstairs, never hearing his wife or the rest of his family on the prowl before they pounced, frightening the patriarch, he claimed, half to death. The older he got, the less she put it into practice; never knew how strong a heart was later in life, after all, and she did not want his words becoming an ill omen.

Regardless, she had no trouble approaching Nick and Gideon without either fox noticing, and she was briefly regaled at the resulting few inches the latter lifted off the dugout bench in surprise before he whirled around to realize there was no danger.

"Ha!" Gideon began to chuckle, wiping his forehead with the back of his paw. "Mrs. Hopps, 'bout made my heart jump right outta its chest."

"Howdy," offered Nick, and Bonnie noticed he seemed relieved, though she thought little of it.

"Hello, Nick. Sorry, Gideon," offered Bonnie. "Didn't gather you two were in such deep conversation. Although, this is the place to do it. Come here every so often for a little peace and quiet when I'm in town." She added a wink to Gideon. "Since you told me about it, of course."

Gideon grinned. "It is nice. If they'd fix the flooding on the new field, we'd prob'ly have it all to ourselves," he laughed.

"Ain't that the truth," she said, paused for a moment, then continued. "So, Gideon… I've had a lot to catch up on since I got here, but Stu said you were… having a rough morning."

Frowning slightly, Gideon, now standing, pawed at the dirt. "Oh, y'heard?"

"Well, yes, you did leave your pies in our care."

"Fair point."

She cocked her head. "I don't want to tell you your business, and I don't know what happened this morning, but I know how hard you worked to get here and –"

"Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about." Gideon turned and beamed. "I'll stay."

"…well, that was easy."

"It was y'all's concern," he said, and then nodded back at Nick. "Nick talked me through it, too."

"Frankly, I did it for selfish reasons, I don't want to see the world go without these pies," Nick said. "Mostly me. Definitely mostly me."

"Well," smiled Bonnie, "thank you, Nick, and good to hear, Gid. And not a moment too soon; opening ceremonies are in just a little while."

"Shoot, it is about time, ain't it?" Gideon checked the old watch he wore around his wrist. "They say anything about the mayor's meeting?"

"Stu hasn't given me a ring about that yet. Think he's still up there."

She paused. "I'll tell you who isn't, though." The rabbit glanced around Gideon. "Nick, you and Judy were going to visit the Thumpers this morning, right?"

"Yeah…" the fox spoke. "Got a little sidetracked."

"Well, that works out. A whole crowd of them rolled into town when I got here. Looks like they brought out the little ones, even. Have them brandishing those silly signs as well. Stubborn old family that one is, maybe you and Judy can try to talk some sense into them when she gets back."

Bonnie then shoots both of the foxes a wary look. "Where _is_ my daughter, anyway?"

xXxXxXx

"Ugh."

Judy Hopps really, _really_ was not sure why she was here.

She did not own a car. She did not personally know anyone _with_ a car who could have given her a ride that afternoon, given the looming onset of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival that was about to declare its voluminous, if not controversial start for the new year. She had never even visited the northern part of the county where she now sat, twiddling her paws between her knees, waiting for someone to walk through the blue steel door that faced her on the other side of the tiny room in which she sat.

And yet here she was: at the county jail, awaiting an alleged criminal panther to walk through that door, take a seat across from her in the company of what was likely to be some correctional officer armed with an assortment of tasers and other deterrent weapons the bunny could only dream of one day handling in such a capacity, not long after said feline had reportedly roared at a mayor in the privacy of her own office, only to be arrested moments later for a crime Judy had sworn to crack.

It happened like this: Trevor, Mayor Cotton's assistant, was astonished to learn that, despite his boss' recommendation to the contrary, Judy was leaving the office a little early; she apologized profusely, but she had somewhere else she needed to be. The goat typed out the message on his phone to his superior, surprised but willing to acquiesce the request; after all, he was still a bit stunned after seeing the bunny, not too many minutes prior, kiss her police officer partner, a fox, right on the lips right in front of him – did he mention he was a fox? – and could not wait to dispense that gossip to his friends and family at the festival later.

Judy, aware of the county cops who had taken up a spot outside, probably awaiting the end of the mayor's meeting in order to figure out what, exactly, they were to do there besides stalk around the festival sniffing out trouble, went straight to them next and, before she even quite knew what she was saying, asked for a ride to the jail, which doubled as the county precinct, in case anyone was heading up there anytime soon.

Well, one of the officers – they were all coyotes, a sight to which Judy was quite accustomed by now since the county precinct had been practically all canines for as long as she could recall, was heading back to pick up some gear before heading back down to the festival. That gear, she learned later, was nothing more than a few decks of cards – the officers were not expecting a whole lot of action here, it seemed, despite the testy standoff of which they were informed having happened earlier – but regardless of intent, Judy saw her opening and ran with it.

She wanted to see Carl Pumaski. The mayor originally gave jurisdiction to her and her partner, two cops from Zootopia, to oversee the case of the missing produce, and she had a few questions for the alleged perpetrator. This was a worthwhile explanation enough to the county officers, who saw little reason to question the detective work already undertaken – they would leave that to the prosecution and defense – but also had a fair amount of respect for fellow officers, especially one who they had heard about on the news, and did not see any reason to let her do her job.

Except Judy almost wished they had refused, that no one was going back to the precinct, that she had not been able to snag a ride. Because really, truly, she had not thought this through.

Perhaps it was a spur-of-the-moment decision to get her out of town for an hour or two. After all, the last thing she wanted in that moment was to be near… _him_. Nick. Nick Wilde.

She still was not sure why she kissed him. It was not like the moment called for it; far from it. It was not like she considered the idea of it very often before then; far from it. It was not like it even felt appropriate to do so in any which way and that her resolve was such that doing so was the most sure thing she had ever accomplished in her life; _far from it_.

Frankly, Judy always considered herself quite sure of her predilections, of what she wanted and did not want. It had been like that for her since she was a kid, when she decided, against the wishes of her parents, to become a police officer. Then she was one, sort of, a meter maid. And then, against perhaps a smattering of odds, none insurmountable but certainly formidable, she earned the trust of her superiors and contemporaries and started her career as a bona fide policewoman in the Zootopia Police Department – and along the way, she did so partly because _she_ wanted it, not due to being handed it on a silver platter.

But… this was different. It was not that she wanted something, nor was it that she did _not_.

Judy Hopps was, in a few words, confused. Preoccupied. Irresolute.

She glanced down at her cell phone, which she gripped firmly in one paw. The bunny tapped the screen to enter the password-required mode before she could access the rest of its features. But Judy was not interested in going any way past that preliminary screen. Tenderly, she ran a paw along the glass against a relatively new photo she had set as her background, the very same one she had uploaded to social media a day earlier, the one Nick had liked but to which he had also offered his usual countering of "ew, delete" whenever she posted something including his face.

Instead, she not only kept the photo, the picture of she and the fox, on the train ride out to Bunnyburrow, both, for once in the same picture, _smiling_ – she also made it the background of her phone. Nick would protest, and she would probably relent and change it back to that usual photo of her parents in that moment, but when she was sure he was no longer looking, she resolved to change it back.

Judy did not know why she did it at first. Really, she had not thought of it much in that moment at all – she had a picture, she liked the picture, she was going to stick that picture to a place where she would come across it multiple times a day. Anyone does that, she thought, it's not weird.

 _Except_ , she added, _why this one?_

Which was fair. Why this picture, which showcased two co-workers and great friends on their way to somewhere other than a district of Zootopia for the first time in their lives together, above all others? Why was it the one that caused Judy to change the background away from her parents' photo for the first time in as long as she could remember?

She smiled, glancing down at the photo of a grinning fox and rabbit, dragging her paw until it rested atop Nick's head. Judy was so used to pictures with Nick typified by half-lidded eyes and a smirk that bordered on smugness. But there was something in his eyes, fully open this time, eyebrows raised, and that grin, nearing showing teeth, upturned, exultant…

Judy did not hear the knock that acted to warn her of their entry. Instead, she jumped a bit as two officers walked inside, each grasping one arm of Carl Pumaski, whose paws were pulled behind his back in handcuffs. The rabbit regained her composure quickly and stood on the chair – since the precinct was generally occupied by larger mammals, she had to do so in order to even peer over the edge of the table, much like back home – and nodded. "Mr. Pumaski," she said. "Thank you for meeting with me."

The panther offered little more than a curt nod a gruff grunt before sliding into the chair across from her. Once they saw to it that he was seated, one coyote officer left the room after a quick nod to his partner, while the other remained inside, standing by the door.

Judy gulped, shoving her phone back into her pocket and smoothing the collar of her shirt. Pumaski was big – she knew it from their brief meeting earlier in the morning. But now he seemed huge, looming over her even while sitting, a behemoth of an animal that could easily tear her to shreds even with his paws cuffed behind his back, if only he could lean across before she noticed and bare those razor-sharp teeth…

But, she had to remind herself, he was not arrested for violence, nor did he have a history of anything of the sort. Deep breath. She was safe.

And besides, she had an important question.

"Sir," she started, "what do you know about Travis Ferris?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, things about the chapter, as promised:
> 
> UGHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> I don't know if it's writer's block or just an intense dissatisfaction with how I chose to move the story along, but this was a tough one (which, sure; it's been 10 days since the last update, which is the longest I've gone without one so far). I just couldn't quite get this one to a place with which I was happy. I'm still not fully convinced I am now, either, but I feel like I needed to let it go and move on.
> 
> Either way, I'm really excited to not have to think about this thing for a day or two while I regroup before moving into chapter nine. I could use a few days of not worrying about this thing's plot. It's funny, I enjoyed the heck outta writing everything leading up to the festival this thing's about, but now that the story's THERE, it's like, uhhhhhhhhhderrwhat? I'll figure it out before the next one, just know this one was a hassle and a half, more so than I expected, that's for sure.
> 
> But I sincerely hope it was worth the slightly longer wait! You may also notice this one finally has an end chapter listed in the description. I'm not saying for sure that's how it's gonna go, though -- may add one chapter to the tally, depending on how things go. I already ended this one a little earlier than expected, so I guess it's realistic that it might stretch beyond 13.
> 
> Maybe I'm just sad Zistopia isn't updating/going to be updating as much as it used to. These things bum ya out, mang.


	10. House Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it! Did it! Chapter 10! Oh boy!

Judy Hopps had never scribbled anything as fast as she was now.

Part of that was because the rabbit, quite unfortunately and in a brief but harrowing lack of judgement, had not stowed the trusty carrot-shaped voice recorder she usually carried on all police-related work, especially since, well, she needed one, plus it fit so snugly into her utility belt, anyway. She had tossed it into her bag last minute before embarking on her trip to Bunnyburrow, certainly, but being in normal clothes on a job for once was a peculiar feeling indeed, and she had not quite grown accustomed to packing everything she might need – her combination pen and digital recorder, which would have helped mightily now, included.

And then there was the fact that, above all, Judy wanted to get everything she could from Carl Pumaski, and to either her benefit or possible downfall, he had much to say.

It had not been easy. At first, the bunny cop felt she had to coax any semblance of a studied response from the panther, locked up for a crime he maintained he did not commit. But Judy had quite the tipping point on her side, and that was being Stu Hopps' daughter – because, as it happened, the Pumaskis held a great respect for the Hopps family, whether due to their camaraderie in the planning of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival or otherwise.

But once Judy circled back around to a question she had posed very early on, things, she felt, took a turn for the better.

"So," she said, speaking in a voice halfway to monotonous, interested yet feigning disinterest. "You don't know Travis?"

Carl Pumaski teemed with muscle mass of which Judy could only dream of attaining 10 percent. It rippled under his shirt when he spoke, like another being unto itself, one with its own opinion of the matter and separate motivations. It bulged under the dark suit he still donned – he had only been booked a few hours prior, and the county jail was little more than a few holding cells anyway, so he had yet to pull on the unmistakable orange jumpsuit he might later assume if his case went to trial.

In that way, Judy almost felt less fearful of the predator, who otherwise might have been an imposing figure if looking the part of a prison inmate – even though she had seen much worse during her day job, not that it mattered here anyway. Though it was clear the panther detested his current situation, he was clearly not about to screw things up further for himself by threatening a cop who might be convinced of his innocence.

"I know him," Pumaski offered. "Not well, but I do. Met him a few times, sometimes alone, sometimes with a few others of his ilk from their neck of the woods."

"Which is… where?"

"Out beyond Foxgrove," he said, motioning with his right arm. Judy did not realize at first what he was trying to do, but soon remembered his arms were cuffed behind him; he was trying to point a paw to his right before grasping that, unfortunately, he could not do so. "Little junkyard of a place… I mean that in the best way possible, too; the family scraps old cars. I've taken a few of the used ones from my lot out there, the ones that don't sell after a while."

Judy glanced up from the notepad and pen she had been provided by the precinct. The shackled car salesman was staring right at her; their eyes met, and she felt as though, even when she looked back down, she could still feel his stern gaze lightning hot on her forehead. It had been like this since they began talking.

"What I am to understand, then," he continued, "is that that ferret, with a group of however many other folks, all predators – including the Catstantinos' kid Jarrod – stormed the festival, threatened the townsfolk with baseball bats and lit things on fire? General mayhem?"

"Not exactly, sir," responded Judy, locking her gaze on his. "Yes, Travis led a group of other predators to the festival, where there was a standoff over the rules sheet for vendors, which you've already seen." She clicked the pen she held firmly in her left paw. "But tension was diffused before anything could get out of control."

The panther snorted, and seemed to move both arms as though he was attempting to fold them across his chest, but, with a flicker of exasperation, ceased; Judy could tell he had not quite gotten used to their placement and the subsequent severe lack of movement. "Maybe diffused it now," he growled softly, "but that tension has been growing since the festival went into planning this year – and probably long before then."

Judy did not feel she had to write down any of that, so she was on to the next question in a heartbeat.

"Did you and Travis have any sort of interaction in the days leading up to the festival?"

"Yeah. We did."

"Mind explaining?"

"Surprised you don't know already," sniffed Pumaski. "I oversee a… I suppose you might call it a club, more an outreach mission. Made up of people from around the countryside, but mostly Bunnyburrow. We meet in the schoolhouse. Mostly predators like myself trying to figure out how we can do some good in the community and also make our voices heard."

Judy cocked her head while she wrote. "Why should I know about it?"

"Your parents'll show up sometimes. So will the brother of that fox friend of yours, Gideon Grey. Name's Colton. Colt. Good kid, parents don't know he shows up though."

"Yeah, they never mentioned it," Judy trailed off. "Guess they're way more about improving relations around here than I ever thought they'd be…"

"Suppose you rubbed off on them a little." For the first time since he had sat down, Judy noticed a twinge, a hint of a smile, form at his muzzle.

She tapped the pad of paper with her pen again. "OK, and Travis, he came by."

"A few times."

"Funny. That doesn't sound like his scene after what happened today."

"We'll get folks like him from time to time."

"Specifics, please."

"Confused," shrugged the panther. "Disillusioned. Look, you grew up here, you weren't used to how Zootopia does things when you got there. Bunnyburrow had the desegregated schoolhouse, but the town has otherwise been slow at best to catch up. Some folks are fine with the change. Some aren't. And some… don't really know what to think."

"And he was the latter."

"Family leans toward the middle. You don't see too many rabbits unloading their cars out there, that's for sure."

His eyes still had not left her, burning a hole in the bridge of her nose. "What I can offer you about that ferret is this: he came around once the mayor made the decision to allow our kind into the festival this year. Seemed like he wanted to… it's hard to say for sure, but I got the feeling he didn't think that meant anyone should go, that any predator-operated business should sell."

"So he protested your meetings?" asked Judy. 

"Not exactly. Look, I…" For once, his line of sight went elsewhere, directed upward at the faded, tiled ceiling. "How do I put this kindly? It's not like every meeting of ours is, well, passive. Folks share concerns, and they voice them, just like any public forum. And, Miss Hopps, I doubt I have to explain to you the treatment of my kind by yours over the past few generations or more."

Judy gave the panther a quick nod, said nothing further and kept writing.

"So you'll have your folks who want to put the past behind them and move forward," he continued. "Then on the other side, you have your predators who want nothing to do with a rabbit-dominated hamlet where they'll probably never truly fit in, and who don't believe there's any point in even trying otherwise, because the damage from hundreds of seasons is done."

He leaned forward. "But you and I both know things are rarely that black and white."

"And where do you stand?"

The question seemed to surprise the panther somewhat, even though in Judy's mind it was a perfectly reasonable query, and not one with which she was looking to trap him. He was right in arguing that the deep-set feelings a town and its surrounding countryside might have for each other would not necessarily be cut-and-dry – after all, people were different, everyone was, and it was hard to imagine that even she felt the exact same way about every little thing in the world as her parents did.

After a long pause, he spoke: "I allow your parents to attend and voice their own concerns, don't I?"

Judy's shoulder's slumped. That was fair.

"So to recap," said the bunny, running her pen over the pad of paper, "Travis came to some of the meetings but didn't seem all too thrilled with the idea of you letting bygones be bygones and coming out after all."

"Right."

"But his conviction wasn't all there. Like he wasn't totally sure about his own words."

"Which happens. We're working with years and generations of prejudice here. And not just against us."

The rabbit leaned back in her chair, arms crossed but pen still in paw. "OK," she said. "That's interesting… because the standoff earlier today seemed partially about your arrest, not just the vendors' rules."

"You don't say."

"I do. Did you know any of the others in Travis' group?"

"I'd have to know about the others who were with him before I can tell you that."

"Well, there was a fox named Mike Robins."

"Not immediately familiar."

"And Jarrod Catstantino, we've already determined—"

"Lives on the same block. Good family. Preacher's kid. Never saw any of them at our meetings, though."

The bunny pored back over her notes, allowing the feline to fall silent as she dotted a few 'I's almost absently as she considered what she already had. In her mind, there was one thing on which she continued to hang, the very precedent for her arrival at the station to begin with: Travis' stuttering remark, which was never quite completed, to her that Carl Pumaski was not supposed to… supposed to… what?

And then there was the argument before then, when it was just the ferret and Skip Clover, the town constable who opposed the small army of angry predators, stared them down with a deft eye until the mayor's arrival and Judy's subsequent peace offering. The words Travis spoke, almost hushed, a far cry from the shouts and cries that typified his earlier exclamations, resounded in the back of her mind as she thought hard. _Him, though?_ She repeated. _Him, though?_

There was one more question she had for the salesman, one she was fairly certain had already been leveled at him by Clover or one of the county police, but she wanted to hear it for herself.

"Sir," started the rabbit, "first of all: you maintain you didn't steal the festival stock or have any knowledge of it. That's correct?"

"I stole nothing."

"Then tell me, where were you the night of the theft?"

It was a simple question, one perhaps Judy should have led with. But she felt the need to ask it anyway, because it could provide her a clue on where to go next, who else to speak to. If this inkling in her mind that had not quite left her, the one that was seared into her brain ever since Travis' rushed words to her, held any kind of water, she needed to know. Because it could change everything.

Instead, Judy was crestfallen to hear his response, delivered in a manner that registered barely above a murmur.

"I was there," muttered the panther. "I have no alibi, as much as I'd like to. But I will not lie, especially not to a Hopps. I was on the festival grounds that night."

Judy feverishly scribbled a few more notes. "What for…?"

"I was…" he looked away, his yellow eyes suddenly less pronounced, sunken, reserved. "I…" he stopped again. "I was looking for… trouble."

Her nose twitched. "Trouble?"

"Skip Clover and I, we…" the panther closed his mouth again and straightened against his chair. The shackles that held his paws rattled behind him. "I wanted to see if anything was going wrong. To see if there was anything that could be fixed before today. It wasn't my place, because they never let me on the committee like I asked a hundred times, but… I wanted to see for myself."

"And if… nothing was wrong?"

The panther's eyes were closed, face expressionless like he was in a deep trance. Judy watched him inhale deeply, then exhale. "I will not like to a Hopps," he purred finally. "I owe you that much." When he opened his eyes, Judy was struck by the compunction that shone through. "And I don't think I need to tell you more than that."

The rabbit was writing again, but the words were coming much more slowly than before. The silence within the room was almost distracting, anyway. Judy could hear virtually everything – the scrawl of pen against paper, the ticking of a clock outside the room, the slow breathing of Carl Pumaski mixed with the officer who still stood nearby, plus her own. There was even a slight brushing noise, which Judy soon took for the panther's tail, swishing agitatedly against the back of the chair.

"I need you to know this, Hopps," the panther was speaking again, but his vocal had lost its tenacity, its boldness, its pride. "I didn't do what I'm here for. I didn't even do anything at the festival. I ran into Clover before anything could happen. I don't know who stole the goods, and if I had any idea of who might've, I'd tell you in a heartbeat.

"Just…" he continued, "if you see my family, let them know that. Tell my wife, tell my boys. Tell them… I didn't want this."

xXxXxXx

Nick Wilde sniffed once, disgustedly, and scratched his arm. There was not an itch there; it was a nervous tic more than anything, something to occupy the time and to keep his mind off what was in front of him.

"You'd think they'd give it a rest the day of," the fox muttered to his compatriot, who stood beside him, albeit maybe a step behind, as the pair sauntered up to the entrance of the Fall Harvest Festival.

Gideon Grey shook his head, arms folded across his chest. "You've never had longer than a few-second conversation with a Thumper then, have ya?"

Nick could not argue the point. His only dealing with the family up to then had been with Belle Thumper the day he arrived in Bunnyburrow. It was not a pleasant exchange, and judging by the vigor with which that same bunny currently bellowed some unsavory words about Mayor Cotton and the predators who were setting up their vendor tents within unmistakable earshot of her cries, their next conversation would not be, either.

"Can they even do this?" Gideon asked, watching the dozen-or-so animals who shouted their chants, waved their signs and stole their barbed glances at innocent passersby. "We're right by the entrance."

"Looks like they're just far enough away for it to be legal," remarked Nick. "Right by the main entrance, too. Fun."

The fox whirled to his right, just inside the entrance, where Constable Skip Clover and a member of his team stood watching.

"Gonna have a little chat with our floppy-eared friend…"

"Oh, Nick, c'mon, can't we let 'em be…?"

But Nick was already gone. Clover saw him approach, and there was the briefest flicker of mild annoyance curled across his countenance, one the fox only barely registered. The town law enforcer seemed to have three modes, he decided: exasperation, standoffish aversion and complete and utter apathy. Three qualities the grand marshal of a family-friendly festival full of food, games, rides and contests should clearly have, obviously.

"When's the fun begin?" Nick called, adopting his usual barely-above-a-smirk grin. "Are you the guy I talk to about the fun?"

"The heck do you want, Wilde?" came the constable's lethargic response. His eyes flickered to Nick, and the trailing Gideon, just once before returning to the protesting crowd.

"I just thought these things were supposed to have games, feats of strength, contests, pillow fights. I dunno, whatever you bunnies do out here." The fox grabbed onto Gideon's shoulder and shook it almost violently, causing the baker to stagger back a step uncertainly. "Gideon here's just dying for an arm-wrasslin' contest. But it seems to me like all we're getting is upside-down smiles. What gives?"

Clover shot a look at his underling, a rabbit probably around Judy and Gideon's age, who nodded and stalked off toward the corralled-off enclosure where Belle Thumper was leading a crudely orchestrated poem about how in five years the festival would be overrun with predators – stolen from them, if you will.

He turned back to Nick. "Fun's in two hours," he stated plainly. "'Til then I gotta deal with the mess our mayor brought upon herself."

"Wow, there it is, right out in the open," retored Nick, waving his paws, pads turned upward. "Saying it directly to two preds, though? Goodness, what form."

Firing a hardened glare at the fox, one at which Gideon cowered in spite of himself, he grumbled: "Not sayin' I don't like your kind, if that's what you're gettin' at. Just would've done things different, that's all."

"Regular Fix-It Freddy, this guy."

"Been fixin' this festival for years now, making it go smoothly. It's when the mayor decides to storm in and make this big a change without any sort of plan in place – and then wonders why it's blowin' up in her face."

He sniffed. "Recipe for disaster from the start, the way she did it. Sometimes I wonder if she did it this way on purpose."

His last uttering was not one Nick expected. He cocked his head, paws on his hips.

"Run that by me again…"

"Anyway, doesn't matter," Clover motioned at the vendor area, which was even more active than before, carts of produce pulled from storage sheds and a few merchants standing idly by their booths, speaking with each other or simply waiting for festivities to begin. "Convinced the mayor and the committee we needed those predator guidelines, so they're stayin'. Not that it was a tough sell; when the townsfolk see a few of 'em stormin' in on pickup trucks with mischief in their eyes and baseball bats in their paws…"

"You sure they weren't there for a quick game of baseball?" Nick offered, shrugging. "I've seen the old field here, and boy, does it sing."

The constable sniffed once and spat at the ground. "You probably have somewhere else to be," he grumbled. "The both of you." He aimed a quick glance at Gideon, still standing nearby. "Help us make sure that ferret and his friends don't come back and things're gonna be just fine."

And he was off toward Belle Thumper and her posse of shouting mammals.

Nick stood still for quite a while, nary a fidget nor whispered response under his breath that might have enabled him to get in the last word at the constable. This worried Gideon slightly, or at least it was a far cry from the fox with whom he was at least marginally familiar by now. He lifted a paw and, after another second's thought, rested it on the other's shoulder. "Y'good?"

He barely registered the touch. There were many tenets of Nick Wilde's personality, most of them relating to the jokester con-fox aura he had perfected since his youth. But he thought he was a darn good detective, too, or at least so Judy liked to tell him, and so he now allowed himself to think occasionally, even as a rookie cop and one with a checkered background.

But even in his novelty, there was something that did not sit right with him – just like Judy's hunch with Travis before – and he had an idea of where to go next.

"Say, Gid," he spoke finally. "How much longer before you gotta be at your booth?"

The other fox swallowed. "Soon, but I think Stu and Bonnie have been watchin' it."

"Let's give them a holler," Nick called over his shoulder, already on his way toward Gideon's vendor tent, waving a beckoning arm. "Might need ya for something."

Both Stu and Bonnie Hopps were indeed at the Hopps family's vendor area, the one with the giant sign proclaiming their efficiency in carrot farming as well as other fine delicacies (but, really, mostly carrots; they were not so silly as to hide the thing at which they excelled most). Bonnie was actually on Gideon's side, checking under his table while she laid out an extension cord that connected with an outlet nearby, while Stu was deep in talk with a fellow rabbit Nick did not recognize straight away.

Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, the foxes went to Judy's mother first. "Mrs. Hopps," he greeted. "Long time, no see."

"Nick, good to see you, what's it been, 10 minutes?" came her muffled voice from under the table.

"The fest opens for business in about two hours, right?"

"6 o'clock sharp."

"Then if I told you I was going to borrow my good pal Gideon and his van here for a moment, you'd be able to make sure no sleazy animal – probably another fox, because you know how we are with stealing things – took his stuff?"

Bonnie emerged from beneath the table. A sunflower hat was perched low over her eyes, mostly because she had let it slip there while she rooted around on the ground for an outlet. Adjusting its brim, she looked at Nick, then at Gideon, who merely shrugged.

"The mammals you have to look out for are panthers in suits, I hear," Bonnie pointed out with an eye roll. "But I don't mind as long as you're back in about an hour. I think final check happens around then."

"Where ya off to?" Stu, who had overheard, asked, calling from his conversation with the rabbit, who landed a narrowed gaze at Nick. He recognized him finally as Barney Thumper.

"I, uh… left something back at the house," Nick started, eyes on the ground and then at Judy's parents. "Stupid me, really, guess it was a little too early of a wakeup call this morning."

"Ain't your kind nocturnal anyway?" muttered Barney.

"Aha! Right you are!" Nick sprung to the rabbit's side and tossed an arm around his shoulder; he recoiled at the fox's touch. " _This_ guy gets it. Still not used to the sunlight after all these years."

The elder Thumper clicked his tongue in dripping disapproval. Edging his elbow pointedly out of the fox's lean, he turned his back on the vulpine and faced Stu. "Anyway, I'll be off. Sorry things didn't go your way with the mayor's decision, but…"

"C'mon, Barney, this is the third time you've said it; you're not getting a rise outta me today," Stu said, smiling eagerly, almost phonily. "I'll see ya at opening ceremonies tonight."

Nick could only see the back of Barney Thumper's head at this point, but he discerned the quick nod and heard the tempered response: "Good day, Stu, Bonnie." The rabbit stalked off deeper into the festival, brushing past Gideon on the way. Nick was not sure if Stu and Bonnie could quite overhear his whisper of, "Try not to slip up again," to the fox, with whom he exchanged a look, before stepping off.

Gideon certainly heard; Nick found him with the slightest scowl, not particularly negative-looking but certainly downtrodden.

"All right," the fox announced again, lingering briefly on Gideon before looking back at the two rabbits, "we'll be back to see our favorite carrot farmers in a jiffy. Hour tops."

It was not until they were in the parking lot that Gideon was finally able to get a measurable answer from Nick: "Hey, so, uh, where _are_ we going?"

The fox leaped into the passenger side of the truck Gideon drove around for deliveries and other random errands, still with its display reading "Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff" on the side that could, frankly, use a new coat of paint, but the fox had had other things to worry about over the past few weeks.

Once Gideon appeared on the driver's side, shutting the door and sticking the key into the ignition, Nick, sunglasses down and elbows against the back padding of his seat, obliged: "Your ol' friend Nick's got a house call to make."

xXxXxXx

They were at the entrance to the Thumpers' driveway, and Gideon was _not_ happy about it.

"I swear to… Nick, ya idiot, I…"

"Words, Gid, words. Sentences. You can do this."

" _I should not be here!_ "

A brief rundown of the history of Gideon Grey and the Thumper family followed, and Nick was nothing if not attentive, nodding along as the apprehensive fox laid all his anxieties out onto the table – or, more fittingly, the small, dirty dashboard of his van – and capped off his tale with a replay of what happened the last time he visited the homestead.

"So," the fox heaved, out of breath from an incredibly lengthy ramble Nick let him embark on, "there's all that."

"Well, I think we should go in."

" _You_ can go in."

"Just me?"

"Yer the cop, pal."

"And the outsider. They _know_ you."

"Nick, I swear to whatever god y'pray to…"

The fox in the passenger side seat refocused his attention on the farmhouse, which looked not unlike the Hopps family's abode, save for a different coat of paint and maybe a few less windows and rooms. "So I just gotta walk?"

"Walk fer all I care."

Nick had his eye on Gideon again, and he was trying to avoid his stare, but it was proving futile, and Gideon never considered himself one with much of a strong will these days anyway, especially when the other fox added that infernal half-lidded grin, like he _knew_ you were going to do what he said you were going to do, whether you knew it or not.

"Ugh, fine."

The time they had spent at the mouth of the Thumpers' driveway had attracted the attention of a few folks who were still inside the home, most of all the rabbit who Nick took to be the patriarch – Benny, his name was, he recalled; his brother had mentioned it in the mayor's office. One of the rabbit's sons was standing next to him on the porch. His arms were crossed.

"That's Blake," mumbled Gideon. "And if you thought Belle was bad news…"

"Then why isn't he out causin' a ruckus with his sister?"

Which was a question Gideon could not answer. The one thing he had noticed in the days leading up to the festival was that Belle was far and away the most vocal of the Thumper clan when it came to decrying predators' inclusion that year. In fact, he was not sure he had even seen any of the rest of them, aside from Barney Thumper of course, but he was a different side of the family entirely.

Once Gideon put his truck into park a few paces from the worn path that led to the front steps, he briefly contemplated staying inside, or perhaps pulling away, making Nick walk the whole way back; he and Judy had originally planned to walk there anyway, so the jaunt was not far. But once he saw the fox, already out the door and on his way in, motioning to him with a wide-eyed grin as he walked across the nose of the truck, he knew he would be powerless to resist.

Nick, meanwhile, was on the lookout for an errant shotgun that might be within reach of one of the two disapproving-looking rabbits that stood waiting for him on the porch, but he did not see one – though he did not quite trust the open windows on the second story. Not that he should have assumed they had shotguns; that was stereotyping, he thought. Probably.

"Howdy, folks." Nick had put on his friendliest of greetings, coupled with a saccharine smile that showed slight deference, despite his intentions. "This the Thumper residence?"

"What's askin'?" Benny Thumper grumbled. "Besides a fox, I mean." Blake's folded arms tightened against his chest.

"Nicholas Wilde, ZPD. Sorry, that stands for Zootopia Police Department." The fox reached into his pocket and produced his badge, which he had brought along despite their plainclothes assignment; never knew when one might need that kind of identification.

"Ah," said Blake plainly. "The fox cop."

"Right you are, pal," Nick grinned toothily, and Gideon noticed the slight twitch of his tail at the words. "Right you are. And I've got a couple questions for you, if you don't mind."

Benny's expression was unchanged. He glanced up at Gideon, who stood a few paces behind, not daring to come closer. "What's he doin' here?"

"Gideon's my chauffeur and a dear, dear friend. I hear you know each other?"

Snorting, the elder rabbit called into the house. "Beatrice. Company."

"Who's it?" a muffled voice from inside the door came through the front screen door.

"You'll recognize one of 'em, maybe both."

Gideon had not seen the Thumpers' mother since he spotted her in the upstairs room the last time he visited, but she looked the same as he remembered her – always that long, flowing white or beige dress, seemingly something that might get in the way of farm work, but she managed anyway. A more solemn look in her eyes, not like her daughter Belle's often fiery disposition – maybe more like Blake, whose face, he recalled even in his youth, always seemed tempered, yet poised for _something_ , whatever that was.

"Ah," said Beatrice, peering at Nick, and then the more familiar Gideon. "Hopps girl's partner."

"Flattered that you know me."

"We have a TV," she said plainly.

"I'm glad. What's your favorite soap? I assume bunnies would be partial to _All My Children_ , since you know, you have _so many_ of them? Right? Am I right?"

"Crowds in Zootopia must be far more forgiving," the rabbit droned, taking a seat at the far porch swing. "So what's the news? Did our daughter do something?"

Nick took a few more steps forward, paws stretched behind his back. "Ah," he said, "recurring theme?"

"I sure as heck should hope not," Benny, sitting down next to his wife, snapped. "She's perfectly within legal reason to say what she says, where she says it."

Taking the unspoken invitation to join them on the porch, Nick trudged up the steps, brushing past Blake, still standing by the door, on his way; the rabbit instead seemed to have eyes only for Gideon, who kicked at the grassy dirt in the front yard absently.

"Oh, of course," replied Nick, planting his paws on the concrete, back straight, small grin on his face. "Your daughter has every right to say all the things she wants to say about the leadership of that festival and its dirty sins letting in us foxes. I won't come here to argue the point."

He took out a small pad of paper he kept in his back pocket – unlike Judy, he came prepared, and if he had known she had not that day, he would never let her hear the end of it – and looked back at the rabbit couple eying him from the porch swing. "I had a few questions about something else… sorry, meant to get here earlier, but traffic, I'll tell ya. What I wanted to talk about was the missing stock case at the festival earlier. Hear of it?"

"Belle mentioned it," said Beatrice. "But she said they caught the perpetrator. Some predator named Carl Pumaski."

"Ain't surprised, either," Benny added with a lofty expression. "Folks like that don't change, and this ain't the first blemish on his record, that's for darn sure."

Nick wondered if Judy, who he knew was visiting the panther around that same moment if she had not already, knew that. "Past criminal record, then?"

"Like I said," the rabbit replied, glaring past Nick at Gideon behind him, "folks like that don't change."

Gideon winced, and Nick noticed him glance back toward his truck.

"Hey, now, keep my ride outta this." He took out a pencil and pointed it at the mother, then the father. "So you two know nothing about it other than what your daughter told you."

"We don't tend to make it out to that festival anymore," Blake chimed in from behind the fox. "'Specially not this year."

"More dunk tank prizes for me, that's fine." Abruptly Nick thought of a text he needed to send, one that would probably help along his questioning a little, and reached into his pocket for it. "And how about your opinion of Skip Clover? What's that enigma of a man really like?"

Nick was lucky Gideon was listening in too, because he missed the first part of the answer. Suddenly, and quite frankly, their answer seemed far less interesting than it should have been, once he glanced down at his phone and saw Judy's name, which he had been successful in avoiding virtually all afternoon, even when around her parents, if he could help it.

But now there it was, and he would have to text her, talk to her, actually communicate, and for Nick Wilde, usually so cool, calm, collected and always one step ahead of the action, he was at a loss for how to start the conversation after the earlier incident.

So instead, he launched right in from the start. "Pumaski's background check," he typed quickly, paws against buttons so fast it was a wonder he did not mistype. "Look into?"

He was surprised to see the mark noting that she was typing a response almost immediately; if she had met with Pumaski by then, she had already finished.

"Sure."

Nick nodded slightly. _OK_ , he thought. _Professional. Yes. Good._

He looked back up in time for Benny Thumper to conclude a long, saintly speech about how Constable Clover was one of the best things the town had ever known.

"And he and Pumaski, they _hate_ one another," added Beatrice with a definitive nod. "Which is silly, if you ask me. It's all from Clover's distrust of the guy, but who in their right mind is gonna let someone with that kind of background join the festival planning committee?"

"You don't say." Nick was writing again.

"Anyway," Benny stood from the swing and crossed his arms. "Is there more? Or do y'wanna run down the whole town phonebook with us?"

"Sir, as fun as that sounds with a man of your stature, I think I'll pass," said Nick with a grin larger than he usually managed. "It's been a pleasure, though."

"Hm," grunted the rabbit. "Blake, show our good officer back to his truck."

Nick was, of course, perfectly capable of walking himself back to Gideon's delivery van, but he relished the opportunity to steal a few final moments with Belle's brother.

Except Blake was already gone. Nick whirled around to see him walking back toward the van with Gideon, his arm pressed demoralizingly against the fox's shoulder.

By the time he was within some semblance of worthwhile distance from their hushed conversation, however, the rabbit had turned heel and, with a quick tip of his cap and an impish smirk, brushed past the cope on his way back to the homestead.

Gideon had already started the engine of his truck before Nick even clambered into the passenger seat, but the fox waited until both doors were closed before he asked, "What'd he say?"

The fox behind the steering wheel said nothing at first. He pulled the truck into reverse, backed out of the driveway and onto the road after checking for cars, muttering, "Well, truck's cleaner than the last time I left this place."

"I can imagine. Anyway, Blake."

"Told me he'd see to it my home's windows wouldn't be the only thing busted if I set paw there again."

"Of course he did." Nick was unlocking his phone screen; he thought he might have felt it vibrate from an incoming text or something of the sort. "You don't think it was him who did that, do you?"

"Naw, I'm pretty certain that was Travis. Blake just heard about it and didn't let the opportunity go to waste," he said, drumming his paws against the steering wheel.

"You really must've done a number on this town when you were younger, bud."

Sure enough, there was a text from Judy, and when he saw it, he was conflicted by its words, because what was there was simultaneously a shock and yet also an unmistakable boon to the case as it stood.

"Welp."

"What is it?" Gideon asked, peering over the horizon, where the sun was getting low as evening – and the festival's kickoff – approached.

"It's Judy. Just got Carl Pumaski's record from her. And… well, look, once we get to a stop sign."

And once he did, Gideon understood Nick's reaction completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it me, mr oh-god-writers-block-is-the-worst
> 
> I think I might be out of the woods finally on the writer's block I'm having with this thing the last few chapters. It might be a little premature to say that, but the next few are a lot clearer in my mind than the last two or three have been, so that's a start. Gonna even try to pump out the next chapter within a week. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always for the read. If you're reading these words right now, it means you actually checked this thing out (I mean, unless you just skipped to the end notes, ya nerd), and man, I appreciate it so much. Dis story my bb and I'm glad u like my bb.


	11. A Different Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really long chapter! Oops!

"At least someone's happy."

Nick Wilde did not really mean to say those words – out loud at least – but they slipped out, a subconscious assessment of the scene in front of him.

His partner could not disagree, though.

"You'd think it was his birthday," Judy Hopps commented.

"How do we know it isn't, to be fair?"

The Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival was officially in full swing, and it was because of the opening ceremony the two Zootopians were presently watching from afar. They stood against the side of a nearby church that was being used for children's activities such as mask-making and other potentially messy endeavors. Judy stood with her paws on her hips, attention affixed in front of her, while Nick, beside her, leaned against the building, sunglasses on but almost unnecessary with the waning sunlight, head down.

They could hear quite clearly the voice of Skip Clover from as far back as they were, even though not every facial feature, expression and the like were immediately visible from their vantage point. It was the Clover Judy knew or had known, and one to which Nick had finally been introduced: the ebullient, charismatic, excitable master of ceremonies who seemed to enjoy nothing more than to preside over the annual festivities with a vocal that proclaimed him, oftentimes, the center of attention.

And that troubled Nick a bit, because…

"Sea change. I tell ya, Carrots, it's not natural."

"It's just Clover," she replied with a wave of her paw. "It's normal."

In front of them stretched a deep array of lawn seats, folding chairs and spread-out blankets, all spoken for by one of the largest crowds of prey animals to which Nick had ever bore witness. Alongside them stood even more spectators, mixed into them the occasional predator like himself, in keeping with the event's new inclusionary stance. Make no mistake, it was still very much a majority of Bunnyburrow residents, but Nick, spotting the intermittent coyote, bobcat, even fox like himself, could not help but wonder what the scene had been like a year prior.

Interestingly, few seemed to take much notice of the new guests – least of all Clover, who was on a carefully erected stage at the far end of the crowd, practically shouting into a microphone he gripped as though it might be the last possession he would ever own, rattling off name after name, sponsor after sponsor, all the while motioning to different folks who found their way on stage to be recognized. Judy noticed both her parents at one point, Stu Hopps offering a meek wave while the constable extolled what he called "innumerable contributions" to the festival.

"Innumerable contributions. Wonder how much it pained him to say that," Nick grumbled.

"You could try to lose the sarcasm and have some fun, you know."

"Carrots, that's like asking a hippo to walk around on land for the rest of their life."

They were ignoring a great deal of things in that moment, both of them, consciously. The fox and the bunny, hanging toward the back of the crowd, scanning for trouble but really not too aware of their surroundings, only aware of themselves, of one another, and what their counterpart was thinking.

It was not going well for either of them, but neither would admit it.

Judy always hated when the fox insisted on wearing his sunglasses, especially at a time like near-dusk. He had always been so hard to read, Nick Wilde, so tough to gage his emotions, his thoughts, his feelings. When she could not see his eyes, it only exasperated matters, because otherwise she only saw some fox, leaning against an old church in a pose that resembled some silly renegade or loner type who probably had a lot of deep, dark secrets, or so they liked to put on, and could not be bothered with the spoils of everyday life. The acerbity she could take, the wit even more so. But when Nick got quiet, she began to worry.

And why not? The pair was now simply trying to tiptoe around the fact that just a few hours before, after one of the tenser moments of either of their lives, recently or otherwise, they had kissed – a rabbit and a fox, they, them, entering into that reverent bond of somewhere between undying love and modest attraction, which could contain a great number of scenarios, possibilities, outcomes. And this was no just because of the show of affection, though that in itself was quite the big deal, especially among two friends and, for that matter, partners on the police squad. It was not taboo in Zootopia for interspecies relationships to blossom, per se, but it was not common, either – and all this did not even consider the surrounding areas, which were far less forgiving. Nor did it deliberate over the fact that it was between prey and predator.

Had it happened in Zootopia, she could be slightly more at ease – with oh-so-much emphasis on the word 'slightly.' It probably would have happened at his apartment or hers, or maybe outside the precinct front doors after a long, particularly tedious shift when resolves were diluted and guards way down. It would have been awkward, no doubt, and they would have danced just as quietly around the issue as they were now.

But Bunnyburrow was different from Zootopia by a long shot. Judy and Nick had helped to erode the predator-prey tension that had festered for decades and certainly had defused the broken system after Bellwether's plot to turn predators savage and rule the city herself. Plus, the place was already well on its way to being more of a Shangri-La for interspecies living arrangements than anywhere else, after all, save for the occasional neighborhood lines certain animals rarely crossed, species mixed and mingled there in a way most had never seen.

However, an interspecies relationship was another thing entirely. There were those who advocated for its broad acceptance, of course, and the support for the cause seemed to grow each year. Judy had met one of them, a honey badger who used to work in the precinct archives in the basement, and she had seen her a little while after she left her job, too, because once the rabbit had been employed to watch over one of their demonstrations calling for recognition that her former co-worker had attended. Now, interspecies marriage was actually legal; Judy's neighbors, the Oryx-Antlersons? A gemsbok and a greater kudu, falling under that large umbrella even though their species obviously had their striking similarities.

But neither Bucky nor Pronk were the demonstration types; sure, they could exhibit strong tempers and often shouted at each other long into the night, but otherwise they were fairly private, choosing to take the city government's measured allowance of such things and be fully satisfied with the law rather than fight tooth and hoof for more.

The badger – her name was Melissa – was not like that, nor were her compatriots at the protest. Judy could not help but admire their resolve that day, watching them outside City Hall, beating back counter-protesters who decidedly did not agree with their lifestyle choices with tempered, but expressive, wording and arguments.

She thought of them, of Melissa, because, on the whole, she was not sure what she had gotten herself into now. What _did_ she think about it? No clue, no idea, not the slightest inkling of a cohesive thought that would have betrayed her true inclinations. It had happened so fast, so abruptly and without any kind of resolve that she felt had been bubbling under the surface for weeks, months, a year. Maybe it had been, maybe that was the thing about affection: sometimes you did not fully realize its power until you were in its throes, suddenly, hopelessly taken, and the path from which you came was precipitously blocked and very much impassable.

And then it did not matter what path one had taken, even if it was one of friendship, of platonic, deep but unromantic rapport – one could travel backward, sure, but things could not be the same way again.

At least that was how she felt – it was one of the only things Judy was sure about in that moment, that whatever had happened between she and Nick had changed their relationship entirely. Deep down she believed it, knew it to be true. Acceptance, however, was another thing completely. Her memory flashed scenes of she and the fox, mirroring the cop's current pose as he stood leaned against the brick church, seemingly apathetic about the entire world and all that came with it – and how, Judy thought, could that be the case? After all they had been through, after what had just happened, he was there, he was so close to her, and yet – yet he felt so far away.

Judy longed for a peek into Nick's mind, even if just for a minute, a few seconds even. At least then she might discover where he really stood on the matter, what he thought about them. It was clear to her that he felt _something_ , and was conflicted by it, hence his statements earlier in the day.

But all that seemed so far away now, and she was not sure what to think anymore.

It had started off easily enough. When the pair first met up after Judy's return from the county police department, they compared notes on what they had gleaned from their talks with Carl Pumaski and the Thumper family, and then pored over the file on Pumaski the rabbit obtained. The two cops were a well-oiled machine by then when it came to police work, bouncing ideas off one another without a second's hesitance and running through scenarios and possible motives as though this sort of thing had happened a hundred times before. Of course, it could have also been Gideon Grey's presence alongside them before he departed to commandeer his vendor tent, but Judy had a feeling the fox did not quite follow their conversation much anyway.

Here was the main takeaway, perhaps the tipping point in the brief investigation: Carl Pumaski had a criminal record. Jail time, and more than just one sentence. Interestingly, much of it had come within Zootopia a decade or more before then. He had been clean since, eventually turning up outside Bunnyburrow at his dealership, which, commented Nick, he was amazed he was able to snag at all, until they determined he had worked his way up the managerial ladder until finally inheriting the place from its retiring owner three years prior. Getting an entry-level position at such a place? Not as insurmountable.

But when he was younger, Pumaski had been part of a group in Zootopia known as the Savanna Central Scoundrels, certainly one that fell under most folks' interpretations of a gang, but sans the heavy violence of those by which Zootopia had been plagued many decades before. Nick knew them, he said; it was entirely possible, in fact, that he and the panther had crossed paths when he was in his late teens or early twenties, because, as it happened, they frequented many of the same establishments, and Nick would not let Judy question him further on what those establishments were.

Except where Nick was little more than a con artist fox who was spotless in the eyes of the law otherwise, Pumaski had been convicted with or as part of a half dozen robberies over a few-year period, plus – and this was the one that did him in for a few years – an assault on an elderly sheep during one of said thefts.

It was no wonder, Judy pointed out, that Clover would have been hesitant to let the panther on the festival planning committee, even a decade later. Nick agreed it was probably much of the reason why, but also cautioned against applying the actions of a former bad apple to the same one today, even though he could not deny that the pieces of the puzzle had carefully fit quite snugly.

"Let the court worry about it now," he had said. "They'll do their job, we'll do ours."

Which was… what, exactly? From far behind the main stage back at a point where even the latest of stragglers to the festival's grand opening ceremony were bypassing them completely, the pair could spot a few of the county police dispatched by Mayor Cotton after the Travis incident to scan the area. They were bigger than Nick, as coyotes often were, and that only perpetuated their standing above the comparatively tiny bunnies that constituted a bulk of the attendance. It was exactly what the mayor had said she was trying to avoid when Nick and Judy were enlisted in the first place, but times had changed. Predator animals were wielding baseball bats. Another had stolen half the vendor stock. There were even rumors of a fox, one of the vendors, losing his temper at the town coffee shop, frightening little ones who were otherwise looking forward to a fun-filled day at the annual festival.

In the back of her mind, Judy could not shake a feeling that there was more to the case than simply catching Pumaski, who had undoubtedly been snooping around looking for trouble two nights before – that much was certain. But now she had no leads, nothing about the earlier theft that could be pointed back to, well, anyone else. She had hoped her interrogation might give her more of a reason to pay Travis a visit, but the motivation for his appearance seemed simpler now: he did not agree with the predators vending at the festival or even attending, and he was also distraught at Pumaski's arrest.

And yet…

" _Him, though?"_

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked at last.

"Dunk tank."

"Nick."

The fox slumped his arms against the back of the church against which he still leaned, and sighed. "The case?"

"That's a start."

"Well,Carrots, let's be blunt here: a convicted former thief is accused of stealing – or I guess hiding may be the better term – a bunch of stock at the festival he never got to help plan. Now, I am a firm believer in the notion that people can change, and by all accounts, it looks like our ol' cat here cleaned up his act for the most part, but it's not looking too good for him right now."

"You're not wrong. I just… Travis…"

"Look, if you wanna go out there and talk to the guy, I won't disagree."

Judy scrunched up her nose. "Well, and there was the thing Clover said about the mayor."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, how it seemed like maybe she –"

Nick folded his arms across his chest. "I don't buy that one," he said, words full of thought. "That mayor in there might be getting played by someone, or might not know every little thing that's going on in her town, I don't know, but she sure as heck didn't have anything to do with this. It wouldn't make sense."

"You heard what she said to Travis, though, right? 'Someone like yourselves'?"

"If the benchmark for possible theft in this town was casual speciesism, Carrots, we'd've locked up half the town by now."

Judy could not argue that point.

"So we just stand around?"

"Help the county cops, yeah," the fox responded with a shrug. "Heck, because they're on the scene too, our job just got a hundred times easier."

The ceremony was wrapping up. Clover was motioning around at the different tents, buildings and makeshift hay mazes, among, of course, other edifices, that surrounded them, though they could not make out his precise words. Then, with a final round of applause, folks were beginning to stand, some folding up their chairs, others settling in for the night with their current spot as their home base.

Nick lifted the sunglasses from his eyes. "I'm telling ya, the dunk tank line is gonna get too long if we don't head over there soon." He grinned. "Hey, think we can get the ol' constable in for a few rounds? I wouldn't mind trying my paw –"

"I want to talk to my parents first," Judy said suddenly.

Nick cocked his head. "You need their permission?"

"No, no, sorry," she waved her paws. "I want to… I wanna talk to them about Pumaski."

"Still?"

"I don't know. Nick, do you think my parents would be friends with a predator like that if they knew he used to be some hardened criminal?"

"Dunno," the fox spread his arms wide. "Only just met 'em."

"Well, I wonder if they know. And if they did know… maybe they'll know something more about him that'll keep me from having to go back to the jail and ask."

"Do you think it matters?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." She steadied herself against the gravel ground. "But I need to try."

Nick was silent for a few moments. His eyes studied her; Judy could feel his inquisitive stare against her cheeks, but she stood firm. She would have liked nothing more than to explore the festival with the fox, to show him around, to take him to all her old favorite haunts, like the Ferris wheel, or the caramel apple stand that made better sweets than anywhere she had ever visited in Zootopia. But she could not shake the feeling she had, nor could she quite stuff down a nagging sentiment that she needed to be alone some more, at least not with the fox, not after that morning.

Finally, he spoke slowly: "You think he's innocent, don't you?"

Judy swallowed. "I just… I'm not sure."

The fox lowered his head to her level, smiling with that grin she knew so well. "Then who am I to stop a hunch from Zootopia's finest?"

She might have laughed at the vote of confidence, and he might have chuckled back, too, but Judy suddenly found herself flummoxed, unable to think of anything much farther than what was directly in front of her: because there he was in front of her, Nick was, and they had not been this close since the events of that morning…

So Judy did something she regretted.

"Also I think we should… focus on our job while we're here."

The rabbit had seen the look the fox gave her before. Just once. It was a split-second gaze then, that day at the press conference after the missing mammals had been found, when Judy almost destroyed she and Nick's budding friendship entirely, when he asked her a troublesome question to prove a point, when she reached for the fox repellent. That look, the face of surprise, maybe even heartbreak, betrayal, before it shifted into a scornful admittance that he expected it all along.

It was present again, and just like before, it was gone in an instant.

"Sure. Whatever you want."

"Nick… I mean…"

"No, no." His sunglasses were back down over his eyes, even though there was even less sun before, the utility lights that lined the festival beginning to illuminate. "Whatever you want."

And that was where Judy Hopps stood. Unable to quite process what had happened earlier with Nick and incapable of resolving those feelings into something that made a lick of sense going forward. So she did the only thing she could think of in that moment: push it away until it came back to haunt her in the long run.

Which was not the Judy way, not usually. She was feisty. Tenacious. A go-getter. She had dated in school, even, and it was never a problem. Aaron Longfellow, psh, easy. The others? A cakewalk. It was just _what you did_ , it was not something to worry oneself over.

But Nick was, well, a different animal. Figuratively, sure, but also quite literally. And he was her best friend in this world and in any world, the closest she had ever felt to a being, more so even than her own family. And what was she doing? Ruining that? Were they ruining that together? Maybe she had made a stupid decision back at City Hall in the first place, giving in to some part of her psyche she had never really considered all that much before, certainly not heavily. Perhaps the case and especially the standoff had messed with her emotions, yes, that could be it.

Then… why did she feel so unsure about it?

Nick's voice finally cut through the million voices in her head, silencing them or at least thrusting them to the background for a short while. She missed the first part of what he said, but she heard enough.

"…take a walk around, see how the other cops are doing, maybe try to get a little more out of Clover. I'll text you if anything big goes down."

"Right, y-yeah," she stammered, swallowing once. "Definitely. I'll go… I'll go talk to mom and dad."

"Beautiful."

Briefly something else had popped into her mind, another thing to say, maybe even just a goodbye – but whatever it was, the bunny forgot it almost immediately, because Nick was gone, around the side of the church, strolling off somewhere else, leaving her alone.

She found herself rounding the corner and reaching out a paw, and words came rushing up her throat but stopped at her mouth, and he was already almost gone anyway, so what was the point, the fox was off to do his job, just like she had said they should, so what did it matter, anyway?

But as she watched him go, Judy wished she had said nothing at all.

xXxXxXx

Inhale.

Exhale.

 _Oh, don't forget to stand_.

The festival had provided these crudely made wooden chairs to vendors who had not brought some of their own, and Gideon Grey had accepted one graciously, since he had clumsily forgotten the creaky little folding chair he had set out by the door to bring that morning so he did not forget it – which happened anyway – but, he reminded himself, now was not the time to sit.

His mother had offered the advice, actually. Right before he left that morning with his stock in the back of his van, ready to unload his goods and then grab a drink at the Icy Koala if he had some time afterward, she had come out to see him off.

"Don't forget," she had counseled him, after a tight hug that smeared some of the flour from her apron to Gideon's checkered blue shirt, "stand. Eye contact. Make 'em feel like they _have_ to come over. Y'don't make sales just sittin' there with half your paw up your nose, hopin' someone'll just happen by."

"I know, Ma, I know," the fox had replied with a chuckle and a gracious smirk. "I won't be lazy, I promise."

He appreciated her concern. After all, Gideon thought, it was the first time he had really tried to sell his pies and other assorted baked goods anywhere other than the few regular customers he had in the Tri-Burrows, mostly Bunnyburrow and its surrounding area. Never before had he actually sold at a place like this, not even at the occasional predator-dominated markets and events around his part of the countryside. It was a wholly new experience for him, this festival, and letting his good fortune of even being allowed in, let alone garnering a prime selling spot, go to waste would be spectacularly unfortunate.

She had beamed at him after that avowal. "You know we love ya, Gid."

"I do."

"And we're really proud of ya."

"So ya say."

His mother motioned behind her with her head, where Gideon could see his father and grandfather lugging out new windows for his little cottage, a task for which he had already quite graciously and had even lugged down one or two panes himself before deciding he needed to hit the road.

"Might even have convinced the men over here to come out and say hi," she said with a wink.

Gideon tried to stifle his brief laugh, but failed. "Ma, c'mon," smiled the baker. "Keep yer head outta the clouds."

"We'll see, boy, we'll see." She offered her cheek one last time, and he got the hint and planted a kiss there. "Do us Greys proud."

And Gideon was determined to do just that, in spite of it all. Already that day he had threatened to quit altogether after his run-in with Travis at the coffee shop and the subsequent outburst he had felt powerless to avoid, and now that he had been coaxed back by a potent combination of Nick Wilde and Judy's parents, he did not wish to screw things up any further.

By then, all vendors were back at their booths, including Stu and Bonnie Hopps, who received a small introduction from Clover during opening ceremonies due to their spot on the planning committee but had retreated back to their tent the moment they could. Gideon had not been exceedingly interested in the proceedings, and besides, someone needed to watch the Hopps' table, which by then was practically overflowing with carrots, blueberries and other farm delicacies he was certain attendees would be salivating over in no time.

He was not wrong. The moment the ceremony ended, folks began streaming into the many causeways of the Fall Harvest Festival. Children tugged at their parents, leading them to ticket-selling tables already with infernally long lines for rides such as the Ferris wheel and a particular nausea-inducing contraption in which riders boarded a giant carrot that they could spin around at their will while the vehicle rotated around a central platform at its own speed. Others were funneling into some of the pre-existing buildings used for such things as showcases for the photography or scarecrow contests, or perhaps the barn where the giant pumpkins could be appreciated before their actual sizes were finally determined by a panel of judges who probably had the best job in the world.

But many others had flowed into the main vending area, and already a small crowd had formed around the Hopps' tent. Out of the corner of his eye Gideon saw bundles and bundles of carrots, corn and other vegetables trading hands with the outreached paws, hooves and the like eagerly offering money. Bonnie had told the fox that the first half hour or so often ended up their best sales period, because the produce was still at its freshest, and even though they had plenty of stock and rarely ran out until the Sunday of the festival – and it was still just Thursday – an early rush was not uncommon.

He squinted against the warm glow of the lamplights that shone onto the different tents, now the dominant light source since the sun had recently set. Most of the tents had their share of visitors by now – and why not, he thought, because after all, they were the regulars, the booths always expected by the usual attendees who had visited for years, perhaps even decades. There was probably a system to it, he thought, a method, perhaps. Maybe the same businesses had been in similar or exactly same positions over the past few years, making it easy for prospective buyers to locate their usual favorites straightaway. He was curious about it; he would have to ask Stu and Bonnie later.

Now was not the time. He reprimanded himself for lingering too long on daydreams when he should be trying to drum up business.

Gideon leaned against the table, one paw clutching its edge, the other fiddling around with the sample tray that lay before him. He had put as much of his craft as he could on there, giving special mention to his blueberry pie, which he advertised on a sign he had strewn against one of the poles of his tent as a Hopps-Grey collaboration, because, well, it was, at least in the sense that they had grown the blueberries and he had done the rest of the work.

He hoped, at least, offering samples of his baking was a must; much of the town had never tried his pies, and chances were they were not necessarily going to risk their hard-earned dollar on the pastries of a semi-novice baker – and a predator, for that matter; when did they ever bake? – who was new to the festival. And that was OK; Gideon felt he was up to the challenge.

He just needed someone to take a chance.

"Mom, look, samples!"

Internally, Gideon performed the most pronounced fist pump he had ever accomplished in his life, real or imagined.

It was a pair of rabbits, a mother and her son, who seemed to be a teenager but only barely. He was eagerly pointing at Gideon's tray of delicacies that was planted in front of the smirking fox, pulling his mother by the paw, even though she seemed at that moment more interested in the Hopps' produce, despite the two-deep crowd that had formed around it.

"All right, hon, I – oh!" She had not expected Gideon; that was the first thing he realized. Because he was who he was, or simply because he was a predator in an area where mostly non-predators sold, he could not pinpoint, but it was clear by her raised eyebrows and o-shaped mouth that she had not anticipated an animal much taller than she, smiling, of course, though with his teeth concealed (another thing of which his mother had reminded him), behind the counter.

"Robert, I –"

"Come _on_ , Mom, I'm going to crash if I don't get some sugar in me before you go off buying your carrots or whatever," the younger bunny grumbled, continuing to tug at his mother. His blue eyes faced Gideon finally, and the fox noticed the young boy's nose twitch once, that slight hint of trepidation, but it lasted but a split second; he smoothed the brown fur over the top of his head and started gushing forth: "Wow, so you're a fox who bakes?! Dude, I didn't know your kind did that, that's really cool."

Gideon shrugged with a smile. "Us folks like sweet stuff just like y'all do."

"Yeah, sure, but _wow_ , I guess I just never saw one, I've gotta tell my friends." He eyed his pocket where his cell phone was undoubtedly stowed, but stopped short of reaching in. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Mind if I try one of these?" He gestured at the tray of samples.

"That's what they're here for," said Gideon with a nod, fighting back the urge to stutter hopelessly through the exchange as he noticed the eyes of the teen's mother still on him. "I recommend the one with blueberry."

The young rabbit's eyes lit up immediately as soon as he took a bite of the small morsel. "Oh, man, uh, wow, Mom, you gotta try this!" He took a smaller piece from the tray and thrust it into his mother's face. "No, seriously, open your mouth!"

It was an eternity between the point when the elder rabbit took the tiny slice of pie from her son and the moment it was finally in her mouth, and in between then contained a multitude of looks toward the eager bunny, then at the equally eager fox, and back again, and back again – or at least that was what it felt like to Gideon, who had somehow never been so keen to hear someone's opinion of his prowess as much as he was then.

That was why he missed a small crowd of familiar figures coming his way, and nearly missed a soothing voice call out his name as he was boxing up three blueberry pies that Robert and his mother had decided, fox or no fox, they simply could not do without.

"I brought your old piggy bank, but it's lookin' like you'll need a couple of 'em after today, Gid."

His mom had brought along the dirty old thing as a joke, mostly; plus, the little ceramic coin dispensaries were fairly uncommon those days anyway after the outcry from pigs who just did not quite get the intent behind them. But Gideon appreciated the gesture all the same, and could not help but beam at the sight of her as she approached.

"You came!" he exclaimed, easing in where they had left off before, with a tight embrace.

"Said I'd get 'em out, wouldn't I?" She turned her head slightly to see, true enough, Gideon's father, grandfather and brother walking up as well.

"Nice digs," Colt said, paws in his jean pockets, glancing up at the tent and the surrounding booths. "Who'd you have to knock off to get this?"

"Pays to be friends with the bunnies who help plan the darn thing," Gideon laughed. "You should try it."

His brother waved a paw dismissively. "Right. I'm the one who made the whole schoolhouse hate you well into high school, not you."

Gideon glanced at his father and grandfather next; the elder Grey was surveying the fox's signage, while the other had his head turned away, scanning the myriad of other vendors who had set up shop nearby.

"So you're really the only pred over here?" George Grey asked, turning back around. "A fox among rabbits?"

"And some sheep, goats, pigs – more to Bunnyburrow than bunnies, Dad."

"Just can't remember the last time I actually came into town."

Clara Grey rolled her eyes and returned to her son. "We'll get out of your fur, Gid. We just wanted to say hello."

"Bunnies can read, right?" groused his grandfather finally, squinting at the sign Gideon had whipped up that listed stock and prices and the like. "They can read this?"

"Pa, cut it out," George Grey sighed.

"I just need to know what kinda folks…"

He was, to Gideon's satisfactory delight, cut off by the voice of Bonnie Hopps, who had seen the scene unfolding to her left.

"The Greys, I presume?" the rabbit greeted with a smile, stepping over from her tent to his. "Bonnie Hopps; you probably know my blueberries."

"Ma'am," Colt threw up a paw. "If I can be so bold, your blueberries aren't worthy of the word; they transcend it."

Bonnie giggled behind her paw. "You must be Colt."

"Ma'am."

"And… it's Clara, right? Gideon's told me so much about you…"

Gideon saw the look of relief that melted across his mother's face when she realized she no longer had to scold her father-in-law for potentially insensitive remarks. In a moment, it was as though she and Bonnie were old friends, despite their never having met before to the fox's knowledge, humming about Gideon's tent and the Hopps', about the festival, about his mother's knack for baking that Gideon had thankfully inherited and then some. It even caught the attention of his father and grandfather, who stood within earshot of the conversation, sometimes nodding along, occasionally offering their own tidbits; Gideon could recognize his grandpa's discontent when he saw it – it was a wonder they convinced him to come at all – but he seemed to be managing his deep distrust of anyone whose ancestors did not once eat meat just fine, for the time being.

Colt ducked under the table and joined Gideon on the other side.

"He wouldn't quit complaining, you know," he told Gideon, nodding at their grandfather. "Said we shouldn't support the festival this year one bit, even with you there. You hear what he said about bunnies and reading?"

"They say the same thing about us."

"Yeah. Funny how that works." His younger brother glanced around. "How you doin', then?"

"One sale but three pies in the first 10 minutes. I'll take it."

"Yeah, you will. Need help boxing a few up?"

"If you don't mind."

Colt shrugged, pulled up the chair, sat and began handling the different concoctions, sliding the larger pies into the square white boxes and folding some of the smaller items into their corresponding sleeves. "Only got two more windows to install, too. Place won't be so drafty tonight. They catch who did it yet?"

Gideon would have explained to his brother about the meeting with Travis that morning and its subsequent repercussions, and it probably would have made the fox drum anxiously against the table in spite of himself, but instead another thing entirely was making the baker tap against the booth nervously and with little regard for the way he may have looked in that moment to passersby, least of all the reason for his heightened anxiety in the first place: the approaching rabbit he was fairly certain he recognized.

"Gideon Grey, right? I mean, I reckon so; your name's on the sign and all."

"…hey, Aaron."

Aaron Longfellow smiled and pulled the Cowhartt jacket he wore tight against his gray fur. "You remember. I feel like I never know when I see someone from school. Some do, some don't, you know what I mean? Just never know."

Gideon would rather have forgotten; his clearest memories of Aaron involved the rabbit's head being plunged into a toilet when they were about 10 years old.

"Well, it's… it's nice to see ya."

"You too." He glanced up at the main sign, and then over at the list of offerings. "I had heard you were doing this. I had moved up county for a while, college and all that, only just recently got back. Found one of your flyers at the coffee shop in town, actually. You go there often?"

"Y-yeah."

"Well, look, I'm gonna have to get something from here, that's for darn sure. What about one of those scones?"

One was already in Gideon's hand before he could even ask for it; Colt had been listening intently, it seemed. He wished he had not been; the fox had hoped that him having needed to locate one of the pastries might have bought him some time to calm his nerves before returning to speak to a former classmate that, like so many others, he felt like he had severely wronged in his younger years.

Instead: "Look, Aaron, this one's on the house."

The rabbit tilted his head slightly to his left, eyes narrowed. "Eh?"

"I'm just, I'm…" he was stammering through yet another one of those rehearsed speeches of his, but Gideon could not be bothered to try something new that day, "I'm sorry for how I behaved when—"

"Gideon, dude, that was like 10, 15 years ago." The rabbit crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto another foot. "Let it go, man. We all did stupid stuff back then."

The fox looked down at the pastry he gripped in his paw so tightly he had to scold himself, for it might have crumbled under its weight otherwise, and nodded slowly. "Sure," he spoke. "Yep. Here ya go."

Aaron had already laid the money on the table, in case Gideon denied payment yet again.

"Good gravy, Gideon, this looks too good," said the rabbit, eying the scone hungrily. "If it tastes half as good as it looks, I'm probably going to insist on becoming your business partner."

The fox chuckled. "Already got two of 'em, dunno if we should get too many more cooks in this here kitchen." He pointed at the Hopps' tent beside him.

Aaron's eyes lit up, and immediately Gideon realized why, a stream of recollection flowing back to him. "The Hopps folks! Hey, that's right," he turned back to Gideon. "I hear Judy's back in town. You seen her?"

Gideon nodded quickly. "Yeah, I did. She's around."

"Nice," Aaron smiled. "Nice." He appeared lost in thought for a moment. "She, uh… got any other rabbit with her?"

"Well…" the fox started, but realized that the answer was actually very much a no, and shook his head. "Nah. No bunnies." He thought briefly of telling Aaron about Nick, but refrained; after all, he was just her work partner and friend, and he understood Aaron's intent with the question.

"Cool. Good. I mean," he-paused. "…yeah, not good, just… fine. I'll check her out. _I mean_ , I'll…" He was beginning to stumble over his own words, which he took as a sign to depart. "Never mind. See you around."

As he watched the rabbit leave, Gideon heard his brother begin to burst out in boisterous, unfettered laughter. "Holy hell," he exclaimed, slapping his knee, "he and Judy were a _thing_ , weren't they?"

"Oh, yeah," the fox replied with a grin. "What gave it away?"

"All I know is, he's gonna get the surprise of his life once he walks up with that fox beside her."

"Nick's her friend. And partner at the police department," said Gideon defensively.

"Yeah," Colt laughed. "But he doesn't know that."

By the time Gideon got a chance to check his phone again, it was nightfall; the sun had set long before, but it was far enough below the horizon that the lights above them and those strewn inside the vendor tents were the only things illuminating the area. The fox found himself struck at how much of a carnival feel the place had. Children running back and forth, some screaming with unbound delight as they played their games, savoring the long weekend now upon them with school out the next day. The barking of midway workers and the whir of the engines that propelled the mechanical rides nearby wafting through the air. The ever-present din of conversation, either between vendors or prospective buyers.

Sales were fine. Gideon could not complain, certainly, though he could not shake the feeling he was doing significantly worse than most of those surrounding him, especially the Hopps family's outpost, which had a steady stream of folks every time he looked. And that was fine; he was smart enough to expect slightly less of a turnout than the established regulars, after all.

But sometimes there was more to it. Occasionally Gideon would stand there, doing his best to make the eye contact his mother implored him to enact, but he would be met with shuttered glances and sometimes the raised eyebrows of a small sheep or other mammal who either did not trust foxes entirely or knew who he was – and Gideon was certain the latter was true, because he noticed a few of the people who had been in the Icy Koala that morning, and he could not rule out the likelihood of some of them having told friends and family about what had occurred and about how that same fox was selling his pies in the main vending area, somehow, some way.

It was getting easier, though. With each sale, Gideon grew surer of himself. The tapping stopped. He rarely stuttered. If folks approached timidly, they often left satisfied and happy with their decision to try the fox's slaved-over material. Stu or Bonnie's occasional talking-up of his booth helped matters, and he was grateful to them for it.

Presently he heard Bonnie's voice, and then Stu's, and both were raised slightly.

"Look, Bon, we need more radishes, there's only enough for maybe one bag left."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't let the kids all go off..."

"It's the festival, hon, they should be having fun, not standing behind a table while their friends run around in front of them."

"Hey, can I help?" Gideon called over.

"Nah, Gid, but thanks," Bonnie said, waving a paw. "Just need more stock; we'll get there."

"It's slow over here. Let me get it."

"You sure?" spoke Stu quickly in between transactions of carrots from a pair of customers.

"Not at all. Colt's back, anyway," Gideon motioned at his brother, who had left for a brief time to hang with friends before returning to Gideon's tent, thumbing through his phone, which was charging in one of the outlets. "He can watch the table while I'm gone. Back in a jiffy."

The path to the stock area where the Hopps kept their extra produce was not well-lit, but that was not necessarily a problem; it was not a spot where regular attendees should have been venturing anyway, which was especially imperative after the theft earlier in the week. It seemed to be keeping others from venturing back there, anyway; Gideon did not pass a soul on the way as he fumbled in his pocket for the key that would open the lock to the cavernous shed that housed the stock; the locks were a recent addition, and he could not help but wonder if the Carl Pumaski incident from earlier could have been prevented had someone had the foresight to include them to begin with. It seemed like an odd omission.

He finally reached the shed just as he fished the key from his pocket and was treading carefully toward the door so as to not run into it with the lack of light, when he heard a whisper.

Well, it was a series of whispers, of hushed tones, and even that might not have been cause for any alarm, normally. It seemed altogether likely someone would travel out there for a private conversation, or perhaps a phone call, given its general off-the-beaten-path nature. In fact, beyond the shed actually led to a path through the trees that ended in the new baseball complex, which certainly was not being used during the festival that evening, so the whole area was exceedingly secluded, except for vendors like Gideon snagging a few extra fruits and vegetables.

He would not have thought anything of it, except he was fairly certain he recognized the whisper, the dull tone that was coming from the side of the shed on the outside.

It was a conversation, but he only heard one voice. Gideon was certain of that. And whomever or whatever it was had either not heard him approach or simply did not care to heard – which he doubted on the latter point, because had that been the case, he figured they would be speaking normally.

The fox crouched low to the ground, practically tiptoeing with every step, feeling the cool grass crunch beneath his paws as he edged toward the side of the shed. He was certain he knew that voice, even in a whisper. Such hushed vocals were harder to place, of course, because whispers were often tougher to discern from each other than a normal voice. But Gideon had a hunch about this one, and he was not quite ready to let it go.

Finally, slowly, he peered around the edge – head first, just enough to see but no more than that.

A smaller mammal, certainly smaller than Gideon, was leaned against the back corner of the shed, irradiated in what little moonlight there was that evening that stretched into their current position. The animal had a hoodie on, its hood pulled up over its head, so there was little way of knowing what its face looked like unless Gideon was staring directly at it – and he was not, because the person was turned away slightly, back toward Gideon. He spotted the low glow of a cell phone whose brightness was turned down to its lowest setting; that explained what was occurring conversation-wise.

When he was a kit onward through his teenage years, Gideon had snuck around the house and sometimes out of it without his parents knowing, and he attributed that to an ability to curtail his breathing to the point where, even in near-silence such as he was in now, with only the hushed voice and the nearby din of the festival filling the air, he could not hear even his own breath. That, of course, came in handy now as he strained to listen, still attempting to place the voice nearby.

"I'm tellin' ya, someone's gonna see me, I just know it," Gideon heard the figure whisper, just barely. "No, I ain't tryin' to get outta this. Yeah, I brought a hoodie, but that ain't gonna do no good."

The mammal shifted its weight slightly, rolling its left shoulder, which was planted against the side of the shed, so that it now faced even further away from where Gideon was currently watching, breathing slowed or barely happening at all, still as he could muster.

It was then that he could fully see the tail, dark against the night, shorter than a fox's and thinner to boot. A little like a ferret's tail, perhaps.

The figure had begun to turn back around, and luckily Gideon had already ducked back behind the front of the shed, concentrating hard to not gasp and betray his position, even with the start he had been given, for he had now placed the whisper and matched it to its owner.

Travis.

Gideon lay in the grass, back against the ground and face up, a paw over his mouth, eyes widened as he tried desperately to keep himself in check despite the jolt he had suddenly received. He was certain now it was Travis; the size and tail matched up, and he had spent enough moments with the ferret in their youth hiding from teachers while delinquent, or speaking in hushed voices to one another as they crept up on some unsuspecting prey, to recognize the whisper on this end of the telephone call.

And a dozen thoughts ran through his mind. Why here? Why now? Travis had been told to not set paw inside the festival grounds again by Clover himself – and, though he was on the outskirts, Gideon had a feeling their current position counted within the banishment. At least he was alone this time, that much was certain… well, save for whomever was on the other end of that phone call.

"So whaddya want me to do?" Travis was speaking again, and now it was rising above a whisper to a tone most might be able to make out without a problem. "Stealin' stuff ain't gonna do no good, we saw that already. And I got no problem headin' in and causin' mischief, but what happens if I get caught by—"

The voice on the other end was speaking. Gideon could only hear that it was indeed a voice, but nothing more than that; no words, certainly no vocal features that might have identified its owner even if the fox had known who it belonged to. But at least now the details were less murky: Travis was back, and he was not here for a pleasurable visit.

"Naw, they've gone back home," he heard Travis whisper. "They'll be back. Amy forgot her ski mask, the idiot."

Gideon decided he had two options, one of which sounded far more enticing than the other. There was the idea of confronting Travis right then and there, something Gideon found unappetizing for a variety of reasons, chief among them that, after the morning's activity and what Travis had made him do, he did not want to risk another outburst. Or he could creep back to the main drag, tell Stu and Bonnie or maybe even locate Clover – or wait, no, the county cops were around now, and there was still Judy and Nick, so he had plenty of folks to tell, all of whom could conceivably do _something_.

But what happened next threw him for a loop entirely.

"You taking a nap?"

There was a bang – two bangs, actually; one of Gideon jolting so hard in surprise that his right paw connected with the side of the shed, while the other, he surmised, must have come from Travis, who might have done something either the same or similar. He also heard the cell phone drop to the ground, though it was scooped up quickly; as soon as the fox edged his head back around the side of the shed, the ferret was already setting a blistering pace out of the area, leaping into the wooded area, phone in paw.

"Colt," grumbled Gideon, massaging his right paw with his left. "What on—"

"Who was that?"

"Never mind that, who's watchin' my stuff?"

"Ma is. She came back looking for you. I thought you were taking too long. Seriously, who was that?"

Gideon was standing now, steading himself against the side of the shed. He glanced back once at the woods into which Travis had disappeared, back beyond his younger brother, to the festival, and back to the woods.

"Colt," he said finally. "Go get Stu and Bonnie. If Nick and Judy are there, I dunno, tell 'em too. Tell 'em Travis is back."

"Your old friend? From school?"

"Yeah." He took a few steps toward the trees. "And I'm goin' after him."

xXxXxXx

Nick's friend Finnick was not the superstitious type usually, but he did make one exception.

"Street lamps, man," he would tell the much larger fox some nights as they drove back from some gig or hustle or simple meetup at some bar. "They go out over you, it's a bad sign. You know that?"

Nick would scoff at the idea of such a thing, but humor his friend anyway; it was not every day, after all, that he witnessed the fennec fox in such a vulnerable state, at least in relation to how he usually was, how Nick had come to know him. He would allow Finnick to talk in great detail about the time the fox's cousin had one go out over her right before she was mugged by two polar bears walking home one evening, or the time his stepdad crashed the family car when he was a kit about two miles after passing under a light that blinked out the moment they passed it.

"Bad omen, Nicky. Don't you forget it."

And to his credit, Nick had not forgotten, which was why, as he walked down the narrow two-lane road that led out of Bunnyburrow, he took notice of the overhead light that snapped off as he walked near it. It would not have been so ominous had it not been the final such light for as far as the eye could see; now, he was venturing into areas where telephone poles and rotating corn and soybean fields reigned supreme.

"Finnick, my man," he muttered. "You would not like this one bit."

To be fair, neither did Nick. It was a snap decision that led him to that moment, roaming outside the confines of the usual Bunnyburrow town limits and into the countryside, where the stars and moonlight were often the only illuminating subjects, save for the occasional passing car or the homesteads he had passed on his trip so far. He, Nick, traveling on paw rather than by car, much like that morning, when he and Judy had made their trek to the Thumper household, only to be shuffled back to City Hall due to Carl Pumaski's arrest.

He was getting a lot of walking done that day. He hoped his phone would notice and give him some sort of badge crowning his achievement of getting a solid amount of exercise for once, outside of the minimal workout he often put in as a member of the police force.

After having stormed off in particularly dramatic fashion earlier – which was most certainly his intent – after his most recent talk with Judy, Nick had done exactly what he said he would: first, he checked in with the county cops, some of whom were already a few hands deep into a card game that looked as though it might last the whole night. Then he had searched for Clover, but the constable-turned-emcee of events was practically everywhere and nowhere at once; someone would say they saw him one place, but once Nick reached said place, he was told the rabbit had moved elsewhere. Cat and mouse, except replace the players.

By the end of his quest, he had decided two things: one, he was quite upset with Judy, even still, as much as he had attempted to appear the other way during their conversation earlier; and two, she may have had a point when it came to Carl Pumaski.

Nick could not dispel a feeling either that there was something missing, that Pumaski's arrest for the theft of the festival stock – plus all else that had happened that day surrounding it – seemed too convenient. The fox kept going back to Travis, mostly, to Gideon's tale from earlier in the day to the ferret's almost-pleading words to Judy that Pumaski was not supposed to… to… something.

So, against his better judgment perhaps, that was why Nick was on his way to Travis' home.

It actually was not a particularly long walk in theory. A little ways outside the town limits, the road split two ways. In one, the main road continued to snake and weave through farmhouses and homesteads often helmed by the same rabbit family for the last few generations. Judy lived on this road, and a little farther beyond then, after a turn off that road onto another lane, Gideon was nearby too.

But the other road sailed off into an area where more rabbits lived at first, certainly, but a few families of the predator disposition were situated there as well, a bit farther along. That was where Nick determined the ferret in question resided, and he was looking forward to having a talk with the guy, hoping to catch him in his mood when he was speaking to the mayor and to Judy rather than Clover or, so he had heard, Gideon.

Plus it gave him some time to blow off some steam, anyway. Nick was a walker, that was for sure; in Zootopia, whenever he felt anger swell against his chest, he often excused himself for a walk around the block, which often cured whatever ailment he was experiencing. Since this one was more of a doozy, he decided a longer jaunt would be in order.

Because maybe deep down he knew Judy was right, even though he certainly did not want to admit it. The case should come first, as should their jobs in general, even if Nick found himself increasingly captivated by the simple pleasures of the Fall Harvest Festival; he would be insistent that they come back sometime down the line for one of the other such fests or markets in the area, perhaps just for the weekend. No job, no tasks, no duties, just down-on-the-farm fun, or whatever it was called.

If he even had the opportunity to do so, of course. Nick thought he had gotten quite good at reading Judy, knowing what she was feeling and what she needed in any given moment. Nick was a perceptive fox, sure, but Judy was also his best friend and partner, the person he was around more than any other mammal in Zootopia. He knew what he knew because they opened up to one another, let their guards down, just went around being _themselves_ to the other, no matter what. It was high praise coming from Nick that he could even consider the notion, but Judy Hopps, he had decided many, many months before, was no ordinary animal.

Instead, he had possibly ruined the whole thing with a silly declaration that he did not know where they stood, that he was not sure anymore if their friendship was just a friendship or something more, that he had been thinking a little more about it lately and that certain events over the previous few days had not helped matters – particularly the fact that Judy's father almost seemed to think the pair was already a couple.

And that was not true. They were not. Right? To be truthful, Nick had not dated anyone in a very long time, long before he had met Judy at all. Yes, there had been flings; there were _always_ flings, one-offs, that sort of thing. He was Nick Wilde, not some chronic shut-in without a social life. But a true, honest-to-goodness relationship? He was almost embarrassed to say how long it had been. That said, he remembered what it felt like, what the stakes were, what the language was. And he and Judy, well, it was different. They were affectionate, but only in a way a brother and sister might be, or perhaps a parent and daughter. Close friends. Ride-'til'-I-die friends. Maybe even soulmates.

Soulmate. Ugh. There was the word. The one that got him into this mess to begin with.

He brought it up to Finnick. They were out drinking one night after one of his shifts; Judy had paperwork to catch up on, so she was still at the precinct, but she insisted that Nick leave, because he had not seen his old friend in at least a month by then, which was unlike him. Hang out, she had said. Get drunk. Who cares?

Right, except Nick was a chronic oversharer when he had actually been drinking too much, which was a side of him Judy had only seen maybe once or twice, and luckily it had never gotten to the point where he divulged anything that might embarrass _her_ ; rather, just his personal faults, demons, what have you. But with Finnick, and on that particular night, he often became more sloshed than he could ever imagine to be – mostly because of Finnick's startlingly high tolerance for alcohol despite his size – and that led to some grade-A Nick-isms, culminating in the declaration that he had finally found the… well, the s-word.

Finnick had downed his gin and tonic shortly after hearing that, wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, and said the words that kicked things into motion even further.

"You love her, don't you?"

It was a slippery slope after then, and Nick slid down it gracefully, but like all others, he still could not escape the fact that he was on a downward skid to the inevitable. This was not something he could just shove down, which is what he did with most things, of course. Somehow, some way, he was going to tell Judy Hopps how he felt about her, and he was certain it was going to go terribly, and it was going to wreck their friendship for good, but it was what it was, and for her sake, he could not keep it hidden.

He tried anyway. And Nick almost felt like he had conquered the feeling, like he had successfully stuffed it down to a spot inside, the location of which only he knew and would never tell a soul about, until just a day prior, when Chief Bogo had set them on the assignment to Bunnyburrow.

And then the floodgates opened.

Being with Judy in her hometown. Meeting her parents. Seeing the place where she had grown up and become the woman she was today.

Nick Wilde was an expert con artist, but not even he could smooth-talk his way out of this one.

Car headlights on the horizon piqued his interest briefly, but Nick kept his head down and kept moving, sifting through his thoughts in an environment where he could finally order them without the interruptions of daily life in Zootopia or even the distraction of the Bunnyburrow case and the unrest the festival had caused.

When Judy had kissed him earlier that day, it invoked within him something he had never quite felt – or if he had, it had been so long that he had very much forgotten. It was a pull, a lurch, a movement forward, like a door was opening and there he was, standing on the precipice, able now to move into the frame if he so dared, to step through and enter a new world he had not yet experienced – and there on the other side, entering through a similar door, was Judy, and she was smiling, and he was smiling too, and this was good, it was exciting and exhilarating and everything he had wanted but had been afraid to attain.

But then the door had shut squarely in his face. And it was not that Judy had ruled everything out, said no, this isn't right, you're not right, _we're_ not right. What had happened about an hour or two prior was not a declaration of dissent, a wish for a mulligan, a do-over , to take back the one thing that might have brought them closer together than ever. The door had not disappeared. It was still there, in front of him, and maybe he could reach back through, turn the knob, push it open and there she would be, and this time there would be no slamming of the door, because they would rush through, for better or for worse, before that could happen, come whatever may.

It had still closed, though, and abruptly. Nick knew what he wanted, and what he desired had to have been obvious to her. She had prompted the kiss, too! This was not a one-way street, and the fox could not decide what the hang-up might be other than, simply, having too much on one's plate, especially with the case.

But was that it? Was that all? Or could it be that they were two different species altogether? Or that he was older than her by more than what was conventionally seen among couples in Zootopia? Or that they had been such good friends that she did not want to blast apart what they had for something that could be nothing more than a fling?

He did not know, because he did not tell her. No explanation, no nothing.

"Whatever you want," he repeated to no one in particular, certainly not the oncoming vehicle, which Nick did not notice until it was far too late had veered from the opposite lane heading back into town onto the side of the road Nick walked, as though it had purpose, heading straight for the fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute since I could say I was actually really satisfied with a chapter of this thing. Miracles happen!
> 
> If you've stuck around this far with this story, I'll tell ya, you're the bee's knees. Thanks so much. I would have quit long ago otherwise, and I'm incredibly glad I didn't, because I'm having a ton of fun with this story.


	12. On Settling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

Not every mammal had night vision, and for one of the few times in his life the last few years, Gideon Grey was glad he was a fox, because it meant he had it.

That was the benefit of being an animal known for having been mostly nocturnal, or at least that was a common vulpine stereotype. Maybe the fox thought certain such labels were unfair and archaic – no, he was not going to steal all your things if he happened inside your home – he had to admit that, while neither he nor his family nor really any other foxes he knew were late risers and stayed up hours into the night, save for teenagers in the summer, of course, the fact that he could see through the dark better than most mammals was something he would not soon take for granted.

The downside? His old friend Travis was no slouch at it either, and that was who he was presently chasing through a dark wood, moonlight shining through occasional breaks in trees the only illumination otherwise.

Gideon huffed and puffed, clutching his chest with one paw while the other swung with forward momentum as he loped, intermittently clutching a low-hanging tree branch that stood in his way and cracking it against the force of his motion. He was not a fast runner, not at least compared to most his size and species, but his gait was longer than Travis', even with the ferret's slick, evasive movements and his ability to duck under certain foliage Gideon might have a tougher time avoiding. He was catching up, ever so slightly.

Good thing, too. The dense woods that outlined the edge of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival on one side and separated the town square from the town's newer baseball complex were nonetheless reaching their end, and though Gideon firmly believed he could tackle the ferret if facing him in a dead-out sprint on the other side of the clump of trees, he preferred to keep things between them, away from potential spectators.

He leaped over a tree trunk, bearing down on his old friend more rapidly than ever, but only narrowly evaded the twig-like branch Travis had pulled back and nearly snapped Gideon across the nose with after letting go. Luckily for the fox, he was bigger and much bulkier, and even as the twig careened toward his face his arms broke the piece of thin wood easily as he reached forward to brace for impact – and in doing so brushed against Travis' tail.

It was taboo to touch another animal's tail most places, even in the countryside, where uncivilized spats and dirty duels had reigned supreme even decades after Zootopia had mostly eradicated such practices entirely, but Gideon was not interested in the opinions of his scoffing peers right then. He seized the appendage, clutching with his paw as tight as he could, and together the pair fell onto the flora-covered ground in a mess of tree limbs, paws and tails.

"Gotcha!" growled the fox, but it was a premature declaration. Even when they play-wrestled as kids, Travis was tough to pin, like a slippery water dweller who slid though one's paws like Gideon heard otters did, too, evasive as an animal could be and well-known for it. It was why the ferret had always been the last to be caught when they were younger and on the run from some punishment inevitably coming their way because of this or that, though his comparatively diminutive size helped too.

So before he even quite realized it, Travis had slid out of Gideon's clutches, but it was a short-lived freedom. Preparing to clamber back the other way, the ferret tripped over an exposed tree root that rose precipitously from the grass, and Gideon took full advantage of his second chance, grabbing Travis' leg, gripping it firmly as he pulled himself toward the ferret, and, while he squirmed, flipped over his body so that he was mostly on his back and pinned him with his other paw against his shoulder.

"You stupid fox—"

"What're you doing here?!" demanded Gideon, pouring the words from his mouth before taking a few gasping, fatigued breaths. He meant to sound more threatening but instead came across as relieved, satisfied his chase was over.

"Like I'll tell you. Ain't there a coffee shop you should be gettin' kicked outta?"

Gideon shifted the paw holding the ferret's leg to his other shoulder, which he thought might intimidate his old friend further, but it was a mistake – now with both legs free, Travis reared up his legs and aimed a kick squarely into the fox's chest. The blow knocked Gideon back a bit, just enough for Travis to squirm out of his grasp and into a standing position, but then crouched, one foot forward and the other behind, paws outstretched as though the fox might lunge at him – which Gideon was not ruling out, but once he gathered his wits, he realized Travis was making no move to run. In fact, he had his phone out again and was texting feverishly.

"Who's that? Can't face me one on one?"

"None of your business," growled Travis, slipping the device back into his pocket. Gideon noticed that the ferret's dark hoodie was ripped in one place – along the right side. He did not know if it had been that way before.

"What if I make it mine?"

"Ooh. Big ol' Gideon Grey's finally growin' a pair again."

"I just wanna know why yer slinkin' around where you don't belong."

Travis folded his arms across his chest and scowled. "Don't I? Ain't I allowed to come into town? I knew you sided with the prey these days, Gid, but man, you're livin' up to those rocks we tossed through your window, huh?"

"Clover'll—"

"Let him try," the ferret smirked. "How many times has he come out and tried to settle some pred spat over the years? Betcha he ain't even gonna touch that case."

Gideon's breathing was slowing, weariness lessening, but he could feel his anger rising. It was more familiar this time, closer to standard than before, and fleetingly he thought of unsheathing a claw and lashing it straight across his old friend's taunting face.

But no. _Remember what Nick said. Don't give them a reason_.

"You level with me now," the fox started again, pointing a paw purposely. "Yer here for somethin'. Whatever happened earlier, that wasn't the end of it. What do ya want with this place?"

"You're dumber than I remember if you think—"

Gideon cut him off. "All I see in there is families and folks tryin' to have a good time," he motioned back behind them. "Ain't harmin' no one. I get if y'didn't want the thing to happen, but it did, it's here. What can y'do now? What's the point?"

For the first time since back at the festival earlier in the day, when Judy talked him down from continuing forward with his cohorts, Gideon saw whatever hardened demeanor Travis had adopted slacken only slightly. The fox could have easily caught his friend off guard in that moment, tackled him again, called for help from Judy or Nick or Colt or someone, but there was hesitation instead, trepidation as he watched the ferret temporarily shed the otherwise lingering chip on his shoulder that had become the norm.

"You really wanna know?" Travis asked, his voice more solemn than before.

"I'm askin', ain't I?" was Gideon's only response.

There was half a tree trunk nearby; the top half of the massive tree seemed to have fallen, snapped in two, quite some time before, either by age or some other outside force. But half remained steadfast, unyielding, and Travis leaned his back against it, arms still crossed, and Gideon noticed one foot was planted slightly away from the rest of his body as though it was the catalyst of an escape route should the fox suddenly plunge forward and attempt to pin him against the bark.

"Let's just say…" Travis' gaze was to the sky above, and in his eyes the fox could nearly see the twinkling stars within them, "there are a lot of folks still unhappy, and who'll do what they can to make sure this is a one-time experiment."

"Like the Thumpers?"

"Someone's on to somethin'. You remember our classmate Belle?"

Gideon nodded. After the last few days she was impossible to forget.

The ferret slouched further against the tree. "I never knew this then, but did ya know she had this thing for Mike Robins back in the day?"

"Mike? Nah! He's a fox!"

"Didn't matter. Yeah, we messed with her quite a bit – you especially – but she couldn't get enough of him, at least that's what Mike tells me."

He sniffed "'Course, he didn't care, said that sort of relationship was unnatural as they come, and I think deep down Belle knew too, but boy, were there some awkward exchanges growin' up." He pointed to his head, around his temple. "When I thought back on it, it made sense. Shoot, that's probably why she was hangin' around after school all those times, even though you'd let her have it when she did, she and her brother."

"OK, so what's yer point, then?"

"I'll tell ya this much, her pa found out – this part's coming from my uncle, guess a friend of a friend used to play pool with the guy – and, well, she came in to school the next day with this bump on the side of her head, and we sure as heck didn't see her after school again."

The fox was silent at first. "That's… that's sorta sad."

"Wha? That she hates us even more now? Well, maybe a little, but that's how things're supposed to be anyway, right?" The ferret eyed his old friend deviously. "That's what you said all the time back then, at least, remember? And besides… good thing Mr. Thumper said somethin'. That stuff just isn't right."

"A rabbit and a fox?"

"Pred and prey, man. I mean, I'm not gonna settle down with a fox myself anytime soon, but at least we'd have a little more in common."

He unfolded one of his arms from his chest and pointed a paw, teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Bet your cop friends are totally hooking up."

"Don't bring 'em into this."

"Oh, right, just sayin' her name gets you all…" he waved a paw menacingly, "rawr. Old Gideon."

"It don't—"

"I get you wanna be their friend now, wanna benefit from their better lives than we ever had, but you can't stop me from sayin' her name." Travis' gaze was now beyond Gideon, but the fox did not notice. 

"Because if you hurt her…"

"Well, since you asked."

Travis cocked his head to one side. "Can't speak for them, though."

Gideon had not heard the others approach; he had been too busy formulating some sort of potent verbal takedown – yeah, if you're so tough, why did the mayor and Judy get you so flustered earlier? – to notice until it was too late, when he felt a paw collide against his skull.

It was not a sharp hit, but it was enough to knock Gideon to the side a few paces, the fox stumbling over his own paws and the other tree roots beneath them. He barely had a chance to catch his breath when another impact, this time from behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, tackled him to the ground, head first, and try as he might to wriggle free, he could not budge, listing helplessly in the grass and dirt as his attacker mounted their legs over his back and pressed down against the back of his head with their paws, pinning him.

Travis was standing over him. Gideon, head to his side, left cheek pressed firmly against the ground, could barely register him from that angle, but it was very much the ferret, presiding triumphantly over his old friend as though he had made the hit himself, even though his paws were, for the time being, quite clean.

"Little late, but it did make for a great entrance," said the ferret. "Good thing you only tackled the guy, Mike. Dunno what your fist might've done…"

"Wanted to give Amy a piece of him, since she got there first, only fair," Mike Robins muttered from atop Gideon's back.

"Amy," Travis greeted, smiling sweetly, "you hit like a girl."

"Shove it, small fry," the coyote growled.

Gideon had regained some of his wits; his head still rung from the blow of Amy's punch and Mike's subsequent sack to the ground, but his eyesight, blurred from the impact, was returning.

"Couldn't get everyone else out tonight?" Travis was asking.

"Jarrod's spooked. Sos's about everyone else. Didn't have time to coddle 'em," Amy explained. She had rested a foot against Gideon's right leg, in case he tried to move.

"I'm sure they'll come around. Don't matter, anyway," mumbled Travis, words dripping with frustration. "Cover's pretty much blown."

"Yeah, way to go, where the heck were you hiding?"

"I had a call, OK?"

"L-look, when yer done talkin' about yer plan with a witness right here…" Gideon managed to murmur from beneath Mike's paw.

Travis clapped his paws together. "Ah! Good point, my friend. Very good point."

Gideon had one last chance to glance up at the ferret, who was now faced away from him, before he heard, "Mike, that thing about your fist earlier… I think you know what to do."

And then the fox was out cold.

xXxXxXx

" _Mom, you're doing it again."_

_The fox scrunches up her nose. "Doing what, Nicky?"_

" _You're making that face," Nick Wilde informs her, crossing his arms judgingly and grinning. "You know the one."_

" _Am not," huffs his mother, looking away, pouting. "You're just seeing what you want to see."_

" _Sure, whatever you say."_

_They are seated at her coffee table. Her son is visiting for the first time in about a month – police work, he claims, really, the summer months are nothing to sniff at. She has just let her eyes wander to the family photo that hangs above the kitchen sink, and Nick knows exactly what conversation is due to come after – and that face she makes, that wistful, longing expression, is only the beginning._

" _I just—"_

" _Ah, here it comes."_

" _Quiet, Nicky, hold a serious conversation with your mother for just five minutes."_

_He exhales pointedly, feigning frustration. "Do I have to?"_

" _Yes. Mom's rules while you're in my home."_

" _Knew there was a reason I hadn't come over in a few weeks…"_

_But he is silent now, and she is willing to forgive that last comment if he is able to exhibit some self-control._

" _Look," she starts, "you're in your mid-30s." He nods, taking a swig of his coffee, which he really hates and has always detested, but he does have some manners, despite evidence to the contrary. "You know, your father and I, we were…"_

" _Married at 25, yes."_

" _And a few years later, we had you."_

" _That makes both of us old."_

_She smirks, running her paws against the mug of tea she holds, relishing the warmth that it exudes. "And you aren't seeing anyone right now?"_

" _The force is busy, Mom. I'm lucky I got the time to stop by today."_

_Sending him a side-eye, she cocks her head. "You mean to tell me no one on the ZPD is married, let alone seeing someone."_

" _Well, no…"_

" _Let's hear them."_

" _Chief Buffalo Butt has a wife. Fangmeyer's taken. I think Delgato's seeing someone."_

" _Hm."_

_Nick sighs, leaning back in his chair, his elbows against its back. "So say it, Mom. You know you want to."_

" _Am I that predictable?"_

" _Is my mother the most predictable woman on the planet? Yes. Yes, she is."_

_She grins. "You know, your grandma was asking me these questions when I was barely 20."_

" _You're getting off track," warns Nick gently, shaking his head._

" _Fine. Fine. I just wish you'd settle down."_

" _There it is!"_

" _Find someone."_

" _You just want grandkits," he alleges with that half-lidded smile._

_She does not deny the point. "I just want to see you happy, Nicky, that's all. You deserve someone. Someone good. A nice fox—"_

_He sighs. "I'm afraid the dating pool's fox selection has been severely lacking since my teenage years, Mom."_

" _And you had plenty of girlfriends then! What ever happened?"_

" _Mom,_ everyone _dates each other around then. Even some scumbag like me."_

" _You take that back," she says, sulking. "You're a wonderful man…"_

" _A lie."_

" _A good job…"_

" _Boy, you're just racking these up today."_

" _And with Dad gone, you're about all I've got. I'm sorry, Nicky! I'd just love to grow our little family again, that's all."_

_She waves a paw flippantly. "I don't know, maybe not even a fox. I'd settle for that. Just find a nice – oh, don't give me that look – someone nice. Surely there's someone out there."_

_Nick already has someone in mind, but he does not dare tell her._

xXxXxXx

There was someone – or something—sitting on Nick Wilde's chest.

It was a startling revelation indeed, to open one's eyes after a few hours of sleep – or perhaps more; how long had he been out? – and find that not only was there sudden pressure on one's chest, there was also a pair of eyes staring right back.

That they belonged to a tiny bunny was less surprising.

"Good morning, Matilda."

The Hopps' youngest daughter giggled.

"Oh, and what's so funny?" the fox asked the rabbit, who seemed to think his words were worthy of a headlining set at Zootopia's finest comedy club, the Laughing Hyena.

"It's afternoon!" Matilda exclaimed, raising her paws above her head exultantly and tittering some more.

Wincing, Nick pulled himself up onto his elbows, padded by the soft white sheets on which he had been dozing. Though it took some effort and the slightest jolt of pain through his right side, he managed the transition just fine. "Matilda!" he called, shaking his head. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?! I'm going to be late!"

The child continued to chortle ebulliently, nearly slipping off the fox's bare chest in her merriment. He was glad she did not, because the way she was listing, she might have rubbed against and possibly pulled off a few of the bandages that were wound tightly around his left side, the ones he probably needed to replace today but really was hoping to avoid.

"Late for what?!" she asked finally, between two more giggles.

"You're gonna spoil the surprise, but see, I was planning to sneak up… really slowly…" he was inching forward, leaning up off his pillow, ignoring the dull ache that followed nearly every movement he made, "…and I was gonna… GET YA!"

His paws clutched the bunny's sides and began to tickle mercilessly against her pink dress – he had found Judy Hopps' youngest sibling possessed quite the over-exaggerated response to even the simplest brush against one of her sides, down near her belly. Sure enough, she hooted and hollered, grasping desperately at the fox's much larger paws but realizing quickly her efforts were fairly futile.

"There y'are, Matilda. Get off the man, he's been through enough already!"

Gideon Grey was leaning against the doorway, his paws balled up against his sides around his waist, smirking.

"Hi, Gideon!" the young rabbit exclaimed, waving from atop Nick while her body still visibly shook, coming down from the brief, admittedly one-sided tickle fight to which the fox had subjected her.

"Good thing you came, Gid," offered Nick with a quick wave of his paw. "Was getting so hungry, figured I might have to eat a little bunny or two."

"Nooooo!" laughed Matilda, quite suddenly lifting herself off Nick and rolling onto the ground beside his bed. The fox winced in response; she had brushed his left leg, currently obscured by sheets and a thin fall-suited blanket but with its own array of bandages and gauze.

He watched the rabbit bound out the door, but not before requesting, for good measure and soundtracking her continued laughter, that she send up her older brother Clay, if she was not going to be his breakfast.

Gideon watched her go, too, before shaking his head and walking inside, pulling up a wooden chair currently set up under a desk nearby. "Was gonna come wake ya up anyway," he spoke, sitting down on the chair backward, resting his elbows against the chair's back and straddling the seat with his legs. "Grandma Hopps has some lunch cookin', they were gonna send it up here in a bit."

"Guessing no rabbit on the menu."

The seated fox grinned and shook his head disapprovingly. "All that sleepin' sendin' ya back to the dark ages?"

Nick shrugged. "It's true. Load up the night howler antidote. Or just get me some blueberries, that'll be fine," he added with a wink.

"Think we can manage that." Gideon checked his phone for a moment, thumbing through what looked to be a new text or two, and then slid it back into his pocket. "How ya feelin'?"

"I'll never answer that question with a joking, 'Like I've been run over by a truck,' ever again, I'll tell you that much."

It was Saturday. Two days prior, the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival had kicked off to fairly diminishing returns. Sales were good for most of the vendors, sure, and attendance had never been higher. But a pall loomed over the event, preceded by the near-riot Travis and his friends had incited Thursday morning and then regressed further by the revelation on the local news the next morning that a fox had been found at the side of the road outside Bunnyburrow the night before, the victim of what looked to be a hit-and-run, as he was all alone when Avery Hopps, rumbling his truck back home after a pleasant evening at the festival, happened on the mammal he had met just Wednesday, struggling to peel himself up off the pavement and motion to the passing vehicle but only barely able to do so before collapsing into a heap of torn clothing, fur and blood.

Nick was lucky the impact had not been more forceful. County police surmised that whomever had hit him had been traveling at a speed of about 25 mph, certainly the speed limit but admittedly slower than many cars tended to careen down the street, being a country road with few motorists, after all. It was such that, despite definite injuries to his person – a ruptured spleen was the most serious, though he had plenty of cuts and bruises all over – the fox ended up merely spending the rest of the evening in the county hospital, then a little while longer on Friday, before being sent home into the care of the Hopps family with whom he had been staying while in Bunnyburrow, provided he was supplied with a formidable dosage of painkillers fairly regularly and given a checkup sometime in the coming days, either there or back home in Zootopia, depending on his health or possible lack thereof.

But he felt fine enough. Sure, it hurt to move most of the time, but Nick was thankful his injuries had not been worse, that he was instead in a comfy bed, every one of his wants and needs attended to – though he could have done with a TV. The streaming option on his phone had to do when he was actually awake and not zonked out on his medicine, but his recent uptick in income thanks to the Zootopia Police Department's noteworthy salaries and benefits had allowed him onto a much better data plan, so he was not concerned with overages.

They had not found who had been driving the vehicle that struck Nick; in fact, the fox himself could barely remember if it had been a truck, a car, whatever, that had done it. All he recalled, he told police later, was realizing the vehicle was coming toward him just at the last possible moment, and by the time he came to after being knocked unconscious by the blow, the culprit was gone without a trace.

County cops said they would see what they could do, certainly, but they had little to go off. Plenty of cars were traveling that stretch of road with the festival in session, and there were certainly no cameras in the vicinity, barely even in Bunnyburrow proper, where the only security footage might have come from the townsquare, near City Hall, but even that would be inconclusive; there was no telling if the driver had passed that way afterward, after all.

The only other person close to being a witness, Avery Hopps, said he thought he remembered passing two different cars on his way out of town before finding the fox. One might have been a truck, he said. He could not remember for sure; he was not thinking about the minute details such as who was driving the other way into town, especially in darkness, and what they were driving; who would have?

One thing the police did seem to rule out, or at least say there was little evidence toward it being the case, was whether or not the hit-and-run had anything to do with the festival, and more specifically, Nick Wilde's job as a plainclothes officer from Zootopia looking to keep the peace as predator vs. prey tensions mounted. It could have been, they said, but by the time he was struck, the fox was quite a ways outside the main town limit, walking toward a meeting he still had not been able to attend.

There were other issues, anyway. Colt Grey had, around the same time, informed a few cards-playing officers that his brother's old friend Travis, who had been banned from the festival earlier that day along with a few of his friends, had been spotted again out by one of the stock sheds. He left out the part that Gideon had pursued the ferret, though he was quick to tell Stu, Bonnie and Judy Hopps, located back at the Hopps' vendor tent, that that had been the case, and that he was worried about his older brother.

But by the time some of the county cops made their way into the area where Colt said the ferret had run, he was nowhere to be found. They were far more interested in Gideon, who they located staggering out of the woods holding his head, which he claimed he had injured running into a tree while chasing the now-escaped predator. Anyone else with him, they asked? Yeah, he said, but they all ran away once he spotted them.

That was not the whole story, but Gideon figured he would save the meatier parts for Nick and Judy, the cops he expected to be fully on the case rather than general peacekeepers like the county folks seemed to be.

"Talked to Judy last night, though," Gideon was telling Nick now, half of his face slumped dejectedly against his paw. "They ain't around."

"Define that."

"Like, she went out to their houses, they weren't home. Parents didn't even know where they'd gone."

Which was interesting to Judy, Gideon explained, and it only strengthened her resolve to link them to the Carl Pumaski case.

"Her parents didn't know about his arrests, I guess," Gideon continued. "Or at least exactly what he did. I dunno. Said he was a nice guy the whole time they knew him."

Nick pondered the topic for a moment. "Or maybe it was all just a play to get more power here."

"Y'might be right."

They sat for a little while in silence. It was not the first time Gideon had visited; he had been by the previous evening, though only briefly. Nick was due for a new dose of painkillers around then and was not in much of a talking mood, but he let the fox at least say his peace and fill him in on what had happened between him and Travis Thursday night.

Nick was in slightly better spirits now, though he did have one question weighing on his mind, bringing him down a little.

"Has… has Judy been around?"

Nick was not in the same bedroom he had slept in when he arrived. It was a room a little ways from Judy's, closer to the main bedroom of her parents, generally used as a guest room for visiting grandparents or some of the Hopps' older, married children. But once the fox was brought home from the county hospital, he had commandeered the room, sending Judy's grandparents, visiting for the weekend while Stu and Bonnie manned the vendor booth, elsewhere – not that they minded, at least not outwardly.

But due to his new brand new living arrangements, Nick was neither in the same room as Judy nor saw her much. In fact, he had not since the hospital.

Hers was the first face he saw when he awoke Friday morning. She was there, sitting in a chair next to his bed, sort of dozing off to the morning news, which had already mentioned him briefly before turning to the results of the scarecrow judging at the festival that had taken place the night before. He asked her how long she had been there. She did not answer.

There was the hug, though. It was brief, not too showy, but it came after he had finally awoken, and though at that moment he was in a mountain of pain, Nick thought he felt it all melt away, if only for a few moments, in their embrace.

Except then her parents arrived, and then a few doctors, and suddenly Judy was outside his grasp, and others were talking, and he had to listen to them, respond, field all sorts of questions from the Hopps parents while the medical staff readied a few more doses of drugs to quell the ever-rising ache he felt in practically all parts of his body.

He had not seen her since, but that was to be expected. There was work to do at the festival, after all, and she certainly was going to get little done sitting at the bedside of a fairly indisposed fox.

Still, he was curious.

"I think she was here this mornin'," mused Gideon. "Saw her last night when I was leavin', too. She was headin' your way. I dunno, man."

Nick nodded silently. She would not have woken him, but he almost wished she had.

A thought popped into his mind. "Wait," Nick started. "It's like, what, 1 o'clock? Why aren't you out at the festival?"

Gideon leaned back a bit and shrugged. "I came to get a little break. Stu and Bonnie needed to pick up some emergency rations, too, so I took my chance. Colt's been hangin' around the tent anyway, so he's got it locked down. Plus he's a heckuva better salesman than I am, that's for sure."

"He doesn't exude the same hillbilly charm you do, though."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

Gideon tilted forward again, resting his chin against his arms, which themselves laid along the chair's back. "How about you? Walkin' yet?"

"Only to the bathroom," Nick said, leaning his head back against his propped-up pillow. "Otherwise it's drugs and food all day. Not a bad countryside vacation."

The other fox grinned. "Whatever keeps ya from getting hit by cars because you decided to walk on the road in pitch darkness."

"…still not my greatest moment, I'll admit."

"I was actually thinkin' about that."

Nick turned his head a little on his pillow. "Oh?"

"So… y'didn't see the car that got ya?"

"It was dark, Gid. Wasn't… thinking straight."

"But it was comin' toward ya, right? Like, into town."

"Was definitely coming my way. Seemed like it veered over into the other lane, honestly. On purpose or not, I don't know."

Gideon nodded. "Good to know. Thank ya, Nick."

"Sure. Don't worry about me too much, though," the fox grinned. "Go. Enjoy the festival. Don't worry about some dumb fox who walked in traffic."

"Prob'ly should get back, anyway…" said Gideon with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head and standing. "You watch yerself with all these kids runnin' around, y'hear? Matilda's gonna knock your bandages off."

Nick gave a quick thumbs-up. "Just gonna start threatening to eat 'em."

"And I'll tell Judy y'said hi…"

"Yeah, that… that'd be nice."

Gideon was already a few steps from the doorframe, his back to Nick, but he stopped short of leaving completely. "Hey, Nick?"

"Shoot."

"…you and Judy. Somethin' Travis said the other night got me thinkin', and…"

He turned back around. "That day at the baseball diamond. You were about to say somethin' before Bonnie came over. Y'remember?"

Nick narrowed his gaze and laid back against his pillow again. "It was just two days ago, bud."

"Sure, sure. Anyway… look, yer business is between you and Judy. I just wanted ya to know that…" He thought long and hard before continuing. "…that I support y'all. No matter what."

And with one last wave he was gone again, brushing past Judy's grandmother, who was on her way in with Nick's next dosage of painkillers and what looked to be a homemade pie stacked to the brim with blueberries, but Nick did not notice them at first, his mind wandering off to another place entirely.

He looked down at his phone, tapped through the lock screen, lingered on his brand new wallpaper, taken from Judy's social media post chronicling their trip out to Bunnyburrow, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a weird few days, else this would have gone up a little faster.
> 
> Call this one the calm before the storm, probably.
> 
> LOVE Y'ALL <3


	13. This Must Be the Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

Chief Bogo's precinct desk phone number was not in the contacts of Judy Hopps' cell phone, mostly because she rarely needed it while not on duty, but also due to the fact that she practically knew it by heart by then, or at least by muscle memory from the amount of times she had punched the series of numbers into her own desk phone.

So when her boss' number appeared on the screen that Saturday shortly after noon, she knew instinctively who it was, as well as why he was calling.

Though that knowledge did not ease her mind about the content of the occasion one bit.

"S-sir?" the rabbit mumbled, delicately holding the device in her palm after connecting her earbuds into its headphone jack as she often did when on the other side was a caller who could not – or perhaps would not – use MuzzleTime, preferring the slightly static-y distance of a voice call.

The chief's deep, booming voice was curt and to the point: "How is he?"

Judy swallowed, leaning against the brick church where she had last seen Nick Wilde without a great amount of bandages and stitches, away from the bustle of the third day of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival, which tended to be the event's most well-attended day.

"Better," she replied, wiping her forehead with her free paw and squinting at her phone through the early-fall sun as though Bogo's face might show up at any moment, despite him being on a landline phone. "They'll know more in a few days when he goes in for his checkup, but the doctors here said that if he progresses like he has been, he may be able to return for at least some desk work in a week in a half."

"That shouldn't be necessary given how terrible Wilde is at paperwork," snorted Bogo, and even Judy could not suppress a much-needed laugh.

"I'll keep on him. He could use a few menial tasks."

"We'll cross that bridge then. You told me yesterday there seemed to be no motive. Do you still feel that way?"

Judy was not sure, but she still had zero evidence to the contrary. "No lead," she decided on as a response. "The traffic cameras here aren't like what they are in Zootopia."

"That's fine. I just need to know if you think someone is trying to take out some of my cops."

Up to that point, Judy had not considered the possibility of someone singling her out, focusing on her and perhaps going after her in a way similar to Nick being hit by that car. She generally tried to keep the concept from her mind that the fox's accident might have been in any way premeditated, let alone the idea that had it been her instead on that country road, walking after dark in a dimly lit area of Bunnyburrow that was usually only traveled by motor vehicle, she might have suffered the same fate.

"I don't feel threatened," she said finally. "I know what Officer Wilde was trying to do and why he was there, and I think it may have just been… a freak accident not tied at all to this case."

That seemed to appease Bogo, who was already on to his next topic.

"Continue to do your best. Find this thief, if you think there is another, but good god, Hopps, don't go overboard," he grumbled. "Once this festival is over and done with, I need you back here, not following some lead on a case in Bunnyburrow that may or may not already be closed and solved."

The bunny nodded, even though she knew her boss could not see the affirmation. "I know, sir. Constable Clover will take it once I'm gone, or maybe the county police. It'll be out of my paws."

"Good, because I need you to keep that place safe, too. That's what you were originally there for."

And to be fair, she had been, thanks to the county cop presence but also because Friday had come and gone uneventfully. Gideon had seen Travis and his friends on the outskirts of town, he told Judy, but they had not been spotted since, which was a relief to her and most others, even though, admittedly, a part of her also felt unease in the pit of her stomach since not one of them had turned up yet.

"You can count on me, sir."

"Give my regards to Wilde, won't you? I don't feel the need to call him; I've got enough to do around here as it is."

Judy smiled through the call-ending click at the other end of the line, because she knew exactly what her boss meant. Since he had been hired, Nick had tended to play this once-a-week game with the buffalo where, seemingly always when the chief needed it the least, the fox would call and begin to drone on and on about his day, the weather, the minutest of things, always insisting there was a point to the call, even though there was never, ever one reached except to see how long he could keep Bogo on the line before he finally hung up, leaving Nick, Clawhauser and even Judy in a fit of hysterics as they huddled around the fox's cell phone, put on speaker mode so all could hear.

She longed for those days – not because they got anything done, and if there was anything Judy enjoyed the most at her job, it was actually accomplishing something rather than spending the day wading through menial paperwork. Rather, it was a simpler time, though not distant – it had happened just last week, in fact. And there was no guarantee things would not return to the way they were, per se – that in a few weeks, after the festival and once the daily rhythm and minutiae of the force crept back into her life, she would not be clustered around that phone again, giggling with a paw over her mouth as Nick decided to regal Bogo with the history of some new wave band from decades before that the chief had always sworn to avoid, until his newest officer began to blare it from his desk well into the evening, like some totem of rebellion.

Tucking her phone back into her jeans pocket, the rabbit began to walk.

Presently she was off toward her family's tent, though she did not have a real point to her supposed destination. The Hopps booth had simply been her home base since the festival began, partially because it was a place where she could always count on someone she knew being at any given moment. That included Gideon most of the time, and if not, his brother Colt would know precisely where he was.

Judy was proud of Gideon, she knew that much through an otherwise bemusing few days. He had mostly overcome the fears that plagued him pre-festival, the genuine worry after his home had been vandalized, even the wary looks he still received from certain attendees who could not believe organizers had allowed a predator to join their midst rather than corralling him with the others in the separate vending area out by the barns. He let his pies speak for themselves, and word of mouth had grown to an extent – yes, he was probably still lagging far behind those around him, especially Judy's parents, in overall sales, but Gideon had told Judy that, even with that hit, he was still likely to come out with a profit.

Were the others so lucky? She could not say. On Friday, the rabbit had run into Scott, Nick's old acquaintance who was dispensing his smart water for athletes. The cheetah seemed cheerful despite it all, but when Judy inquired about sales, his tone was bleaker than she had anticipated.

No doubt Gideon benefited from the friendship he kept with Judy's parents, but despite her happiness for the fox and his burgeoning business, she did not want him to settle, either. She walked past a myriad of other shops, tucked to the brim with paying customers, and wondered how many of them had even considered paying Gideon's a visit. Sure, some folks might not like pie – that could not be helped – but of the attendees, which had decided, on principle, to avoid the fox entirely, let alone venture the second area with the other predators?

By now Judy felt accustomed to the workings of her hometown again, specifically regarding how it compared to Zootopia in its treatment of those vaguely different from the norm, but that did not mean she was OK with it.

But changing that had taken a backseat – or maybe not even that; it continued to slide down her to-do list as more and more piled up on her, increasingly suffocating even though she had always felt she could multitask just fine. There was the case of the previously missing festival stock, for which Carl Pumaski had been arrested, and though she was indeed tempted to abandon her follow-ups and let the court decide his fate, the bunny was still impossibly unable to extricate herself from the notion that the panther had been framed, that the real criminals walked free.

She thought whatever had happened might involve Travis in some way, especially given the ferret's continued sleazing about Thursday evening after being banished by Clover and due to that same line that Judy repeated over and over from that afternoon – " _Him, though?_ " – that even if Pumaski had something to do with the theft, there was still something more to it than a one-animal job. But he had gone missing since then, along with Mike Robins, Amy Growlett, Roland Weiss and a few others – and no one, not even their own families, knew where they had gone.

But most of all, there was Nick.

Judy sat on a park bench, one that lined a small grassy area used for festival purposes as a picnicking area and for the kids' water balloon toss plus other lighthearted fare. Already she had wandered a ways from her anticipated destination, the byproduct of allowing her mind to roam rather than maintaining razor-sharp focus like she usually did, especially on a job.

She had quite the crowded mind, the rabbit; she hardly blamed herself for needing a breather for a few, resting her elbows against the back of the bench and crossing one leg over the other comfortably.

Not that, mentally, her mind just shut off. Even through the occasional reminder about the case, a half-baked attempt at attaining another lead or even brief resolve to merely enjoy the festival she had grown up with, the image of a smiling fox, confidence teeming from his expression, appearing as though he was on the verge of some measured retort or remark that might earn him a well-placed shot in the ribs from the bunny.

But it flickered away too, replaced without warning by that same fox in a bright, white-walled hospital room, unconscious, bandages covering much of his unclothed body, an IV attached to his right arm while a monitor beeped along incessantly.

It was the worst Judy had ever seen him, even though he was stable, simply knocked out due to a potent cocktail of painkillers administered shortly after he was brought in under the care of the place's physicians. He would awake the next morning and be mostly himself, just in a formidable amount of pain, and she would only get to see him alert for a little while before the drugs were in his system again. But in that moment, Judy first considered the idea that Nick Wilde could be taken from her, from the earth entirely, and despite his continued recovery since, she could not evade that image, with the nagging feeling that accompanied it – that it could have been, and could one day be in some other capacity, her last memory of him.

There were children playing all around her, running, yelling, gleefully contesting games of tag or tossing around balls and disks. Judy envied them; by now she realized that, when she was their age, she bemoaned people like her – the adults who sat wistfully on a bench nearby, seemingly unable to smile a single second out of their day unless it was forced and insincere. Those adults could not be trusted; why the long face when there was so much fun to be had?

And now Judy wished she was with them instead, probably immune to the ill effects on species relations the last few days had brought about, knowing nothing more than recognizing it was a time of celebration, with fun, food, games and just about anything else a child could want from the season.

What was more, it was one of the first times in a while that Judy Hopps had been confronted with the concept of her own mortality. Yes, Nick was fine, but what if the car had traveled a few more miles per hour? What if she was the one walking on the side of the road in almost complete darkness instead? Would her body have withstood the blow like Nick's had?

She glanced over the playing children again. The rabbit, much unlike the vast majority of her species, had disregarded the idea of having offspring; maybe part of her dreamed about it as a young kid, as many often do, but her career had always come first. And that was all good and well, and her devotion to becoming Zootopia's first rabbit officer had served her perfectly, and she was on her way to even greater heights in her field, she decided.

But suddenly – and she was not sure if the feeling was temporary or not – she thought of her own prospective children, however many there might be, one, five, probably no more than that; she was not her mother, nor her mother's mother and so forth. But in order to attain it, if it turned out it was what she wanted at all and was not just some fleeting, knee-jerk reaction to trauma, she needed to stay safe.

Except she wondered how easy that could even be, especially on the force.

What Judy did not realize in that moment was that she was being watched. Not in a malicious sense, certainly, and not even by one of the playing children or perhaps a parent who could not tell if the bunny had kids of he own or was simply there to relax and take in the grassy lawn that as dotted with shade-bearing trees. It was one of those pining stares, nostalgic, a glance that triggered possible remembrance, recognizing and wondering if an old friend had a doppelganger or if the person nearby was really who she seemed to be.

The rabbit did not notice him until he was beside her. "Judy? Judy Hopps?"

Here was a thing about Judy: yes, she kept a few social media accounts, but they were mostly closed off to anyone but family or distant kin. She barely spoke to her old classmates anymore, or the childhood friends with whom she had grown up in Bunnyburrow. It was not like she was actively avoiding them, opting to shed much of her old life in the country in favor of brand new digs in Zootopia. She merely did not have the time to keep up with them.

There were exceptions, and the bunny standing in front of her was one of them.

Not that she had spoken to Aaron Longfellow often. Shoot, Judy thought, she could not even recall the last time they had exchanged a few pleasantries over some messaging service online, let alone talked in person. And she certainly did not stalk his online footprint to keep tabs on what he was doing with his life and with whom. Aaron was simply an old friend who had at one point in her life been dear enough that Judy thought the awkwardness of removing him from her otherwise close-knit life, even if their talks were less and less frequent with each passing year, would outweigh any sort of superficial satisfaction gleaned by clicking 'remove.'

But of course he would be here, and of course he would notice her. She had been silly to not expect him, though in her defense she had more pressing things to consider most of her days.

"That's you, right? Didn't change your name once you up and left the big city? They don't just call ya 'Officer' instead?"

It dawned on Judy that she had not yet said a word, and quickly snapped back to attention, jumping to her feet and, internally, mobilizing her usual chipper self.

"They do, but old pals are an exception," she said, striking a toothy smile. "Aaron! Look at you! I'll be darned."

Before she could even fully react, she had been pulled into a tight hug, that familiar embrace – strong, full, but without lingering too long, not even when it eventually became something other than platonic in their youth. Really, Aaron had never been one to linger on anything too long at all – he bounced around different sports in high school, excelling at one and dropping it to conquer another. Or there were the school clubs and his admittance into practically all of them; it had been a wonder he ever had time for anything.

But Judy, Judy had been the constant, the exception. And she remained that way until, well, life changed, priorities changed, as they often did.

It was still on her mind as Aaron finally let go, and she beamed up at him. "Would you like to sit?"

"I'd like that."

xXxXxXx

"Think I'm all funned out."

Gideon whipped around to face his brother, who thumbed through his cell phone in the back corner of his vendor booth while it charged. "Y'reckon?"

"That festival we went to a few towns over a couple times, the predator one, that was, what, two days long?"

"Weekend show, yeah."

"This place should follow its lead. I'm beat," Colt sniffed.

His older brother grinned, wiping his paws on a damp rag after passing along a few pastries to his most recent paying customers. "That one's tiny, though. This is the big leagues."

Colt shrugged but did not look up from his phone. "Big leagues. Right. Is species unrest part of the program at all of 'em or is that just this one's special talent?"

Sighing, Gideon looked back over the narrow thoroughfare created by the alley of vendor tents on either side, into which crowds of rabbits, sheep, goats, even the occasional cats, coyotes, fellow foxes and the like funneled, flowing past each booth as though caught in a current, with the occasional passersby dropping off the parade to make a purchase. Saturday had, true to form, been demanding, though mostly for the tried-and-true sellers like Stu and Bonnie Hopps who had sold at the Fall Harvest Festival for as long as even they could remember. Gideon sustained admirable activity around his tent, sure, but there remained less of a steady stream of patrons than the others – not that Colt was complaining; he had a fairly rough hour and a half while his brother stopped off at home and the Hopps' place for some supplies, now taking a much-needed breather.

In a small way Gideon agreed that getting the whole thing over and done sooner rather than later would be nice. Maybe the town would go back to normal afterward. Belle Thumper would not shout at folks coming in every time someone walked by her near the south entrance. Gideon might get less disapproving stares from the resistant-to-change types who could not avoid walking by him on their way to someone else's table. Even Travis' whereabouts would no longer be as much of an issue; Gideon would not worry much about him once the festival was completed, but until then, he felt constantly on edge, recalling their meeting Thursday night and wondering not only where they had gone, but also what they planned moving forward.

He leaned against the front table that served as the barrier between he and prospective buyers, the one with the signs and papers describing what he had and how much it cost, as well as a signup sheet for home deliveries if they so desired (he had gained a few additions to the record, mostly folks who swore by the Hopps' fruit-growing endeavors and would take their blueberries any way they could get them, in someone else's pie or otherwise). It was a good crowd, but as he scanned it, the fox acknowledged that he had seen many of them already that week, and he did not have an incredible amount of faith in snagging them now if they had already passed him over.

The koala approaching might have been an exception if the festival had happened a week prior, but Sheila, the owner of the Icy Koala in town, had spotted Gideon, and, despite his meek wave and rueful smirk, hoping it would be another to appease her after the Thursday morning incident at her shop that resulted in a broken mug and frightened clientele, decided to avert her gaze and cross over to the other side of the alley, leaving the fox frozen in mid-wave, shoulders slumped.

"Hard, ain't it?"

Under no circumstances had Gideon expected to see Skip Clover at his booth, but to be fair, it had been a week full of surprises.

"S-sir."

The constable was dressed in what Gideon had been told was his usual Saturday outfit: a plaid suit, highlighted by a frilly white undershirt, a crown placed atop his head. It was a bit much – excessive, that was what Gideon called it when Stu and Bonnie first mentioned it that morning – but it had its place in the fanfare; on Saturdays, the festival crowned its junior king and queen, generally awarded to two of the recent high school graduates after a brief contest akin to a pageant of sorts. Clover, as master of ceremonies and, naturally, the emcee for the event, often donned one of the crowns throughout the day Saturday to drum up anticipation for the big event that evening.

"I hear you've been doing well this year," Clover remarked, eying the supply list Gideon had crudely plastered onto the table with masking tape.

"Better than I thought, sir."

"But some folks aren't bitin', are they?" The rabbit fished in his pocket, produced a cigar and a lighter, and pointed them in the direction of Sheila, whose back was turned to them as she talked up the opposing vendor on the other side, a sheep who sold unpretentious woodcarvings. "Heard you and she had a run-in?"

Gideon shook his head and waved his arms. "Naw, not at all, just a misunderstandin', I sw—"

"It's all right. I get it. I'd probably knock over a mug if I had to talk to that Travis fellow one more time, too," the constable said, lighting his cigar and adding a wink. Gideon stopped short of finishing his sentence.

Tiny wisps of smoke rose from the end of the cigar before Clover removed it from his mouth, blowing a ring before offering it to the fox, who refused a drag. "Well, Mr. Grey, I'll tell you what – you're doing everything you should be, keeping your nose clean, and I appreciate that, so don't worry – whatever happens, you'll still have a place at this festival. And folks like her," he motioned to Sheila again, "they'll come around."

"Well, I appreciate—"

"Just one thing." The rabbit tapped the end of his cigar, letting little clumps of ashes fall to the ground, before glancing back up at the fox. "And this is all I ask. If you see your old friend, or any of his pals, leave the sleuthin' to me. Sound good?"

"Right…"

"Just don't want a repeat of Thursday night. How's that bump on your head, by the way?" He squinted at the abrasion atop Gideon's head, right above his right ear. "Looked like a nasty blow."

Before Gideon had a reassuring response to give, having reached up to rub the sore instinctively, Clover had left, a trail of smoke following in his wake as he moved toward the Hopps tent.

"…OK, I wasn't the only one who thought that was a little weird, right?" Colt chimed in from the rear of the tent. His phone was in his paw but unplugged; it must have been fully charged, Gideon reckoned.

Gideon would have responded with a little unease of his own, but there was a teenaged panther studying the fox's inventory nearby, and Gideon was quick to greet him, taking his mind off the exchange that at first seemed pleasant, then somehow not so much.

When the transaction was over and the big cat left hauling three raspberry pies in his arms, Gideon spun around to return to his conversation with his little brother, except he was not in the back corner anymore. He was still nearby, he soon learned – but now in the Hopps' tent next door, his back to Gideon, helping one of Judy's younger brothers wash some of the carrots that had been stowed in the storage shed before putting them out for sale.

Their eyes met finally when Colt swiveled his head a little bit, and once they did, the fox jerked his head to his left. Gideon followed his line of sight to Stu and Bonnie, who opposed three jaguars on the other side of their table – two parents, one with his arm tightly wound around their son, who the fox immediately recognized as Jarrod Catstantino.

Colt put a paw to his mouth and shushed Gideon, then pointed at his own ears. It was then that Gideon realized his brother had moved over to listen to the conversation unfolding, however masked.

Gideon did his best to busy himself in the meantime, taking a few more orders, setting out a few new pastries and reapplying tape to one of his signs that had gone crooked in the slight breeze. In fact, he occupied himself so much that he nearly missed when the jaguar family from Serengeti Springs walked past his own booth.

Jarrod and Gideon had been friends in high school, but not for long; the jaguars had moved to the countryside just a few years before graduation, and by then Gideon was no longer very much the ne'er-do-well he had once been, even though he still hung out occasionally with his old pack. He was not sure how or why Jarrod gravitated toward their particular bunch of misfits, and even to that day the fox could not recall him saying a negative word about, say, a rabbit while unprompted to do so, but he was a fine acquaintance at least, if not a little mismatched but willing to assimilate as needed.

And now they were making eye contact for the first time in quite a while as Jarrod's parents, both dressed in their usual preppy attire – polo shirts, sundresses that seemed imported from somewhere – led their son along, his father's paw still gripping the jaguar's shoulder in a manner Gideon could now tell was quite forceful, when viewed up close.

There was definite remorse in Jarrod's gaze, Gideon could tell that much – and that did not surprise him, after the cat's reaction to Clover, Mayor Cotton and, eventually, Judy stalling Travis' attempt at a protest Thursday morning. Perhaps it was fear, worry about the repercussions from his family that might come if they had not already, the idea that their son was part of a gang of predators wielding baseball bats and threatening a prey-run festival probably not the topic of jolly conversation around the dinner table back in Serengeti Springs, especially with one of its other residents, Carl Pumaski, recently being carted off to jail.

But there was a message, too, and Gideon had not realized it at first, because Jarrod, his head craned to look at the fox while his parents trudged on, their heads held high and missing their son's sudden reaction, had only been mouthing the words. The fox squinted, focusing on Jarrod's muzzle, having never fancied himself a lip-reader but doing his best anyway, before nodding quite abruptly and giving the jaguar a whispered, "Yes."

"Well, I thought I had the scoop of the day, but it looks like you might've beat me," remarked Colt from behind his brother, having returned from the Hopps' area and his carrot-washing duties.

"What'd you hear?"

"Dude's parents carted him over to the Hoppses to make him apologize. Guess they've been doing that with everyone who's on the festival board. They're mad as heck, you can tell."

"I believe it."

"But that's about all. Rehearsed, which you'd figure. But c'mon, what the heck was _that_ just now?"

Gideon smirked. "Y'saw?"

"I notice things. So what was it?"

"Depends. Colt, can you stay here for a little bit?"

His younger brother threw up his paws in frustration. "I ought to get a cut of your profits for all the time I'm spending here, bro."

"Then get Ma and Pa to come do it if they come by, if they're still here. I gotta find Judy."

"Fine. Whatever. Tell me why."

"I think he just told me where Travis is."

xXxXxXx

"That truck would still have been stuck in that pond if you hadn't let me call your parents, Jude. Admit it."

Judy was laughing, even though something in the back of her mind had exploded like fireworks, a potent sensation far above a tingle, as she realized what Aaron had called her.

He had not said it since they dated.

"Fine, fine," the rabbit responded anyway, shrugging with her paws upturned. "I admit it. You win."

Aaron flashed her a smile. "'Course. Knew you'd remember it my way."

It was later than either of them thought it was, Judy now realizing it with a glance down at her phone, which had rumbled with a text from her parents, and then from Gideon, all asking where she was.

"I need to get going, I think…"

"Aw." The rabbit scrunched up his face into a pout. "You sure?"

"I have a job to do here, Aaron. You still aren't a good listener, are you?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "I've gotten better."

"Could've fooled me."

"Fine, fine," he unfolded one arm and waved a paw. "Do what you need to do. I had a great time catching up, though…"

Judy drummed her paw against her phone. "Me too."

"Maybe we'll… run into each other again? When are you leaving?"

"Monday morning. Early. Gotta get back on a train to Zootopia to arrive before my shift in the morning."

The rabbit glanced up at the sky, still light but darkening a little as the sun continued its descent. "Day and a half. I'll live with that. Where can I find you usually? Around your parents?"

"Sure, probably."

"Or Gideon's?"

"I'm heading there now, actually."

Aaron smiled. "Then I'll know where to find ya, Jude. Can't hide from me anymore."

"I never was!" she protested, glancing back down at her phone and its messages asking where she was and if she could stop by.

"Guess not. Just don't go fallin' in love with anyone before then, you hear?"

She rested her paws on her hips. "Oh, good, what's Mr. Commitment gonna do otherwise?"

"Got me there." He straightened the collar of his shirt. "Jude… c'mon, let me take you out somewhere."

"I told you, Aaron, it's just not a good time right now."

He stood and crossed his arms. "You're a tough one to crack, Judy Hopps. There had better not be someone else fawning at your feet, because you're sure breaking a lot of hearts if so."

The image from the hospital room popped back into her mind, but Judy shoved it away as quickly as she could muster. Except it was replaced by another memory – Nick, seemingly crestfallen, muttering to her, "Whatever you want," before walking away from her, suddenly quite distant, even though she had realized she wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

"I… guess maybe there is."

"Oh, so Gideon lied."

She looked up at him. "Huh?"

Aaron grimaced. "He told me you came alone, didn't know there was someone else in the picture. Shoot, and I was gonna offer to buy a stake in his business."

"You should!"

"Oh, I will. Those pies are marvelous." He sighed and looked back down at his old girlfriend. "Wait, it's not Gideon, is it?"

Judy laughed. "You caught me."

"Tell you what: let me know who it is before you leave. He has to pass the old boyfriend test."

"Sounds highly scientific."

"It's rigorous. Gotta know if he's the real deal and if I gotta just move on."

"Aaron, I—"

He held up a paw and shook his head, grinning. "That's life, Miss Hopps. Can't always have the belle of the ball."

"Well, Belle Thumper is probably free…"

Aaron snorted. "You stop that right now."

She was on her feet again, and a few moments later they were in that tight, familiar embrace. "It was so nice to see you. Really, Aaron, I mean that," Judy said, burrowing her face into his shirt. "I needed a little calming down, some cheering up. You're really good at that."

"You're darn right I am."

"I'll give you a call before I leave. Maybe we can meet up. Would that be OK?"

"Whatever you want."

It was the second time Judy had heard those words in just a few days, and she realized, as she pulled away from Aaron finally and headed back toward Gideon and her parents' tents, that, through it all, perhaps it was all about what she wanted. What Judy Hopps wanted, not what her parents, or an old boyfriend, or a partner, wanted. Her desires.

She just wished she could figure out exactly what they were.

xXxXxXx

For the second time that day, Nick Wilde was awoken by a Hopps, and each time it was at either end of the spectrum when it came to the family's genealogy.

Though Judy's grandmother had often been the bunny who brought in his food – he liked her, he decided, because she was a wonderful cook, and he always had a mind to get on the good side of the person serving you food while in bed – her grandfather was tasked with delivering his newest dosage of painkillers and other medicines, which he had explained the night before he was fine with doing because he had been on a few of the drugs himself a few years before after a particularly vicious fall down the stairs at their home up north.

"You don't take too much of the blue," he had warned. "That's why I'm holding on to it. They kept it by my bed because they thought I could keep to a dosage schedule myself. You know what I did? When the pain didn't go away, I took too much, and then I was in even more trouble."

So instead, Nick received multiple visits a day from the Hopps patriarch, which the fox initially was quite worried about; he remembered Judy once describing how one of her grandparents had some less-than-stellar words to say about his kind in the past, something about foxes being the color of the devil or something of the sort, and he was not sure which grandfather he was getting.

If Grandpa Hopps was indeed that rabbit, he had not shown those colors just yet. But his visits were also brief, even shorter than Nick's liking, and the fox generally found he could not get in too many words before the drugs that put him back to sleep kicked in.

It seemed like that instance would be more of the same, Nick awaking to the sound of the elderly rabbit unscrewing a few of the caps on the prescribed medication and humming a tune.

Weirdly, it was one Nick recognized immediately.

"Didn't take you for a Talking Hares fan, sir."

"Is that what that song is? Heard it recently and it's been lodged in my brain ever since."

"I saw them six times as a kit. Once as an adult during the ill-fated reunion. I play their music to piss off my boss all the time."

The rabbit offered his palm to Nick, its contents a combination of pills Nick knew quite well by now, particularly the order in which they were meant to be taken. He grasped his glass of water and started to thumb them into his mouth, taking a swig of the liquid after each capsule.

"Everything feel good?"

"A little better every time. Gonna be dancing down the hall in no time."

"I don't recommend getting up, son."

"Aw," Nick feigned disappointment. "But sir, Judy's room is here, but Judy isn't. I _have_ to look through all her old stuff. You don't understand."

"We aren't gonna have to have one of the kids guard that thing, are we?"

"Psh. Do your worst. I can take 'em."

Nick glanced down at the combination of tablets he had most recently been given, recognizing them as the ones that tended to knock him out fairly quickly. His time awake was coming to an end.

"Can't do that when you're asleep," Judy's grandfather quipped, standing and steadying himself on the side table. "Down the hatch, then. That way you'll be good for dinner."

"Send my regards to the chef. Should have her own restaurant."

He smiled. "She used to. Judy never tell you?"

"Miss Judith doesn't tell me much about her family, apparently."

"I reckon you'll learn more soon enough. Now, lay down."

The fox rested his head against his pillow, having swallowed his final dosage. The throbbing pain that had returned at his side seemed to be melting away, and the corners of his mouth were upturned in resultant bliss.

Meanwhile, the rabbit hobbled over to the doorway and grasped the door handle, about to close it to give their ailing visitor some peace and quiet. But he paused short of doing so, turning back to the fox. "That song. By that band you just talked about."

"Yeah?" mumbled Nick, feeling himself begin to slip into a blissful stupor.

"I heard it this morning for the first time. Judy was in here before she left for the morning. You were asleep, of course, but she was singing it to you anyway. And I've never heard my granddaughter sing, not once." He grinned, and stepped into the hallway. "Must be a good song."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The less we say about it the better  
> Make it up as we go along  
> Feet on the ground  
> Head in the sky  
> It's OK, I know nothing's wrong"
> 
> Sorry this one took a little longer. Thanks for staying on the ride with me. <3


	14. County Line Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! I'll go all WORD SALAD after the chapter explaining why in the heeeeell this took so long, but before I get there, this story is now on Zootopia News Network, and it kinda made my day. THANKS TO THAT THERE SITE FOR ALL THAT THEY DOOOOOOOO. It's an honor to have this story featured alongside some of the downright ridiculous talent already on there. I'm hella not worthy, but I'm gonna accept it anyway. 
> 
> Here's the post: http://www.zootopianewsnetwork.com/2016/07/story-redemption-of-gideon-grey.html. Yay!
> 
> OK, super happy fun storytimes bye

_There is no formal application to fill out for the position of volunteer police officer in Bunnyburrow, no official document declaring one's intention to devote their time to such a cause, but the young bunny has one anyway. It was given to her six years before, when she was just 10, and she was told to come back when she was a little older, that slip of paper in paw, all filled out, and she would be considered for a spot._

_Of course, having any sort of availability was a pipe dream of Skip Clover's – and still is. He has been the town constable for years, and he presses on despite his current standing as the only officer in town City Hall actually pays. It is a modest stipend, but it is enough set alongside other moneymaking practice, and the old constable is content. After all, nothing_ bad _really happens in Bunnyburrow, not as long as the predators keep to themselves – and they generally do. It's often easy money._

_But that did not keep him from taking pity on the small 10-year-old when she came in demanding to become an officer half a decade before. No one wanted the job in town, and he kind of liked it that way, but he told her to hang on anyway, went back to his computer, typed up and printed out a small form and instructed her to come back in a few years._

_Today, she feels, is that day._

_Clover first notices her as he returns to his minute office on Main Street from a coffee run at the nearby supermarket. He is not used to having visitors, especially any that would not just would not just give up when they see the 'come back in a half hour' sign that is usually a downright lie and could stretch double that or more. But there is the Hopps girl anyway, sitting on the curb outside, her elbows resting on her knees as she awaits his return, drumming one foot impatiently, It is the beginning of summer, and he has a good idea as to why she is there._

" _Hello! Mr. Clover! Hi!"_

_He grins warmly as he steps down out of his truck. "Why, if it ain't Miss Hopps. School out for the summer already?"_

" _It is, and—"_

" _Well, ain't that swell? Tell me, any plans? Vacations? 'Course, I'm sure with your family it gets a little tough cartin' the whole group off somewhere exotic, don't it? Lots of heads to count, that's for sure."_

" _Actually, sir, I'm here all summer!"_

_He begins fiddling with the lock to his office, reaching into his pocket to find the correct key among a myriad of others for very different uses._

" _And that's why I wanted to talk to you, actually!" the little rabbit continues._

" _Ack. Wrong key," the constable laments, digging back into his pocket and waving one of the other keys at Judy. "Y'know, this one's so worn, sometimes I think it could get into any door in Bunnyburrow if I wanted it to – except this one, for some reason. It's a handy little thing, that's for sure." This time, the lock relents when he forces in the correct key, and the rabbit steps inside, leaving the door open behind him so Judy can follow._

" _So, Miss Hopps," says Clover, setting down his coffee on his small wooden desk and reclining in the swiveling chair that sits behind it, "let me guess. You want a job."_

" _I got the paperwork and everything!" Judy pulls a folded piece of paper from her blue plaid shirt pocket, unfolds it and slides it across the table face up. "Just like you said!"_

_He does not look at the application just yet. "How old are ya, my dear? Remind me."_

" _I'm 16, sir. 17 in a few weeks."_

" _Uh huh! School?"_

_Her ears, previously raised and attentive, droop slightly. "What about it?"_

" _I mean, how's it going? What year are you? Probably on your way to college soon, right?"_

" _Yes, I think so. I want to go to Zootopia's police academy, but I have to wait for a couple more years, so I'll find something else to do in the meantime, even if I just work around the farm for a bit. But I'm hoping—"_

" _The academy. That's nice. That really is." Clover finally scans the document in front of him, the one he has never used in his life for its intended purpose except for that day six years before in order to send a little bunny on her way. He curses himself internally for a few missed spelling errors. "Maybe once you graduate that…"_

_Judy looks on the verge of standing up out of the seat she has taken opposite Clover's desk. "That won't be for another few years!" she protests, nose twitching. "I'm not looking for a full-time job. You don't even have to pay me!"_

_The constable leans back in his chair and gives Judy a meek, defeated shrug. "Well, sure, I know that. And I'd love to have you on! It's just," he pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, "I'd want to pay you, that's the thing, but I don't have the money to do that, and the townsfolk, well, if they found out, they probably wouldn't be too happy about it. Politics, you know what I mean?"_

_He stands, then leans forward against his desk, paws flat against its surface, one over Judy's application. "Besides, don't you want money? Need it, maybe? That academy won't be cheap, or any other college, and your parents are pretty fine folks, but can they really get you all the way through it on their dime? While trying to do the same for your other siblings? That don't seem fair, does it?"_

_Judy opens her mouth, on the verge of another protest, but bites her tongue._

" _I do fine here by my lonesome," Clover says, stepping over to his bulletin board. "I put unresolved issues in Bunnyburrow right here on this board. What do you notice about it?"_

" _It's empty," mutters Judy._

_He smiles. "That's right. And that's not me bragging, Miss Hopps. There just ain't enough around here for me to do as is. I can barely imagine you gaining the right kind of experience out here."_

_Clover pauses at the door to the office, looking over the bunny, downtrodden, her head down, and puts on his best sympathetic smile. "Maybe in a few years, hon. That academy don't work out, you come talk to me. I gotta kick the bucket eventually."_

xXxXxXx

Gideon Grey's delivery truck rumbled down that particular stretch of country road north of Bunnyburrow, skipping a few times as it climbed intermittent hills, as it often did lately; neither he nor his father had yet diagnosed the issue, but they were confident the truck was not going to keel over and die anytime soon – as confident as two foxes with a dying motor could be, of course.

He appreciated the noise, though. It added a little break from the monotony that was an otherwise quiet ride out of town. His passenger was not much of a talker in that moment, her carrot pen brushing the side of her mouth as she pored over the notes she had already jotted into her pad of paper. Gideon would have preferred some light conversation, but Judy did not seem interested, and he could not blame her.

Anyway, his job was to keep an eye out for the small smattering of trees for which they were searching. Neither of them ventured up that way often – though after her trip earlier in the week to the county jail, Judy had now traversed the path more than once – but it was not as though they were searching for a needle in a haystack. Yes, there were trees in Bunnyburrow and the surrounding hamlets; shoot, the town itself had a particularly dense forest on one side that Gideon had disappeared into to chase Travis. But larger clusters of vegetation were actually not supremely common, since much of the land consisted of flat fields used for farming. If there had been more trees at any point in the area's history, they had been removed, one way or another, long before.

But one of those existing spaces, Gideon told Judy before they left, was where Travis and his friends were hiding.

At least that was how he explained it, his knowledge coming secondhand from the mouthed words of Jarrod Catstantino, led away by his parents for probably a drawn-out punishment at home that would last for days, maybe more. His mother and father, always one of the haughtier couples in the Serengeti Springs gated community a little north who nonetheless decided to send their offspring to Bunnyburrow's all-mammal school, made sure their only son kept it very clear that his involvement in the near-riot Thursday morning against the prey who ran the Fall Harvest Festival was his alone, not extending to his parents in any which way. Forcing him to make such a public apology would probably ensure he would never do such a thing again.

But Jarrod had always been an odd one, the type seemingly never too sure in his own fur or convictions, floating from clique to clique until he could find that let him hang around. That was always how Judy saw the situation in high school, and that was the way Gideon viewed it too – like a lost little thing just trying to fit in, and willing to say whatever he needed to in order to keep things that way.

Neither Gideon nor Judy was not sure the intent of the jaguar, unsure why he would even look at her and risk his parents noticing. Perhaps, as it seemed even on Thursday, he never really wanted to start a predator vs. prey standoff in the first place. But what Gideon did know was this: he had mouthed very simple, easy-to-decipher words. County Line Road, followed by Travis, and then trees.

"Judy?"

"Yeah, Gid?" The bunny did not look up from her notes.

"How sure are ya that… that this ain't some trap?"

The carrot pen was still at Judy's mouth, but she had taken her gaze from the paper pad, leaning back against the rough leather passenger seat in Gideon's truck. "I don't," she admitted finally, giving Gideon a side-eyed glance. "Not really. But it's the best lead I've had in days, and if you thought Jarrod would lead us wrong, I think you would've said something by now. Right?"

Gideon scanned the road in front of him, paws gripping the wheel tightly. "Right. He came into that friend group toward the end of my time hanging out with 'em, but he never seemed… bad, y'know? Or maybe he's got a little streak of that in him, but he's way more scared of his parents than Travis.

"I don't blame him," he said with a small chuckle. "They seemed mad. His mom especially. I'd be more scared of her."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Was over at his house one time and Jarrod forgot to take out the trash, or did but missed one of the bags, somethin' or other. Shoot, she reamed him over that, though. A trash bag!"

Judy smiled, pointing her pen at her lengthy notes. "Then I trust he's not gonna mess that up again. Travis must be here."

The question was where. County Line Road did just as its name suggested, and the county itself stretched a good while. Judy hoped they would be close enough that she and Gideon would not have to drive to the area outside Bunnyburrow's school district reach – not because it was a dangerous, unsavory area by any means, but because she did not want to stray far from the festival. It was nearing sundown, and even though Friday night had come and gone without any major hiccups, she did not want to get complacent on the final actual night of the fest, since Sunday wrapped up around late afternoon.

"And then what?" Gideon started again, licking his lips nervously. "What if we find 'em?"

"Easy," said Judy. "I've just got a few questions for them. And if they have nothing to hide, there shouldn't be any trouble."

Gideon was not so sure, even though he did not protest out loud to Judy. Given his interaction with them two nights prior, he doubted they would be very willing to sit down and have some fireside chat, though he had to admit Judy had been able to defuse the tension between everyone earlier, effectively stopping the ferret right in his tracks before things could worsen. Maybe he did not give her enough credit.

That hypothesis was about to be tested, because…

"That's it. That's the truck."

There was a cluster of trees on the right side of the road, smack dab in between two homesteads on either side. Judy had not seen it first, but Gideon, squinting, could barely make out the vehicle amid the foliage; he had been searching for a clearing in any of the trees he came to, perhaps a path that led deeper into the woods, and not only had he found one, but he also spotted, just barely, that unmistakable yellow stripe along its otherwise red side.

"Really? You're sure?" Judy tossed the pen and paper onto the dashboard and raised herself from the seat as high as she could go without actually standing.

Gideon slowed his delivery truck to a crawl after making sure there were no other cars behind him. "Completely sure," he murmured. "Y'see that yellow stripe on the thing?" Judy could now; they were closer to the small path into the trees than before. "I did that. Mike thought it'd look cool, like a lightning bolt or somethin'."

Scanning the treeline and squinting, Judy nodded. "OK. Then let's go in."

"Guns a-blazin'?"

"I'm not scared of 'em. And I've got a fox to protect me."

Gideon sighed. "That's puttin' a little too much faith in me."

"Pretend they're me when we were kids, then."

"…still holding that over my head after all these years, huh?"

But Judy was already out the passenger side door, practically before Gideon had even thrown the truck into park. He had stopped off the road, but certainly did not dare moving in further; he was not sure whose property they were on, first and foremost, and plus, he did not think it was pertinent to announce their arrival as acutely as they would by driving the truck straight back there, giving his old friends ample time to prepare for visitors.

Judy did not give them that chance regardless. She decided to take the fast-and-furious route, sprinting full-blast toward the clearing, pad of paper and carrot pen tucked under her arm.

"Judy! Wait! Darnit, c'mon."

Gideon leaped down from his truck, shut and locked the door and took off after her, huffing and puffing as he resolved, yet again, to get more exercise.

Reaching the clump of trees into which Mike's truck had been stashed, the scene before him shocked the fox a little.

There was the truck, sure. And there was a tent, big enough to fit a few mammals, but not too many. A lean-to was propped up against a few trees as well. An attempt had clearly been made at a campfire, though he could not tell if it had come to fruition. Litter was strewn about the area, too – cans formerly full of various liquids, bags of half-eaten snacks and the like.

But if Travis, Mike and the rest of them had been there – and it indeed appeared that had been the case – they no longer were.

Judy was darting around the truck, climbing into its bed, underneath, and even into the surrounding areas of the small woods, her shirt caked with dirt every time she fell to her knees, searching the ground for a clue, any clue, aside from the obvious signs of former residence.

"They were here," announced Gideon, sniffing the air. "No doubt. I smell 'em."

"Can you tell how recently?" Judy called from nearby, somewhere Gideon could not quite spot at that moment.

"I dunno for sure. Recent, though. Maybe in the last hour."

She reappeared from behind the truck, straightened and stretched her arms over her head. "So it wasn't on account of our arrival. Well, this definitely isn't what I was hoping for."

"Hey, y'found 'em, there's that…"

"Sure," Judy said, "but what now? I guess we could wait here."

"Yeah?"

"…but what if they're on their way back to the festival?" the rabbit continued, shaking her head. "Or off somewhere else? It doesn't do us much good sitting around and waiting, if that's the case."

Gideon folded his arms across his chest and nodded. "Good point," muttered the fox, eyes following the trails of leaves on the ground that often highlighted the fall season. "Yeah, I reckon that's a real good point. But… where've they gone, then? And how? If Mike's truck's still here…"

Then he paused and shook his head once, as though snapping out of a deep trance. "Naw, of course they wouldn't travel in Mike's truck. It's prob'ly marked, right? Cops'll know what they're looking for with it, especially with that stripe on the side."

There was a stump nearby that clearly had been used as a seat in the makeshift camp, and Judy leaped onto it and sat, legs dangling over the edge, leaning back on her paws. She had been so sure she could reason with Travis once she found him, to figure out what had happened the previous week and what involvement he had with the thefts, Carl Pumaski, whatever – if any at all. But she had not planned for this – to be so close, yet still so far from any new answers or details.

She realized Gideon had disappeared around the front of the truck.

"Where're you going?"

Judy heard Gideon pause, his footsteps ceasing amid the crunch of leaves that had fallen from the overhead trees. "Just checkin' out this thing," he called. "Been a while since I've laid eyes on it. Hey, maybe there's a clue or somethin' inside it?"

This was a good idea, Judy thought, and the rabbit clambered up onto the step-like outcrop below the drivers' side door that allowed its riders to step up into the carriage. She gripped the silver door handle, cool in the autumn shade, and—"

"Cheese and crackers. Locked."

"Shoulda known," spat Gideon.

The bunny peered into the compartment but saw little else to satiate her curiosity – random fast food wrappers, some papers here and there, but little of remote interest.

She jumped down, disheartened, and began stalking around the campsite, looking for something else other than a chip bag or an aluminum can, anything to break up the monotony. But Judy could not avoid the assessment: it looked like nothing more than the campground parties she knew happened in the southern part of the country, down where lakes and ponds were plentiful and where hiking trails became crowded around this time of year. Just a bunch of twentysomethings having a nice time out in the woods.

"Judy. Yer still there, right?"

"What's up, Gid?"

"Come on over."

Joining the fox nearby, she found him still eying the front of the truck, a paw scratching his chin.

"I spent a lot of time around this truck when I was younger, and I can tell ya one thing," he started once the rabbit had met him, "this is Mike Robins' baby. Like, that dude don't like a thing more in this world than his truck."

Grunting, Judy retorted, "Sure sounds like half the guys we went to high school with."

"Yeah, yeah, no doubt. But when I hung around with him, this truck, this thing _sang_ , Judy, it shone, I'll tell ya what. Not a scratch. And if there was, he got it fixed in a jiffy."

He pointed a paw at the left corner panel of the front bumper. "So that's what's catchin' my eye."

Judy squinted, following Gideon's paw to the left front corner of the truck, which was visibly dented – a large one, too, certainly not caused by a simple rock or even, say, an errant baseball throw.

"The heck did they hit?"

"Where'd yer cousin find Nick again?"

Judy's eyes widened. "Side of the road heading out of town, but Nick said he remembered the car coming into Bunnyburrow."

Gideon sighed. "Look, it might be a stretch, but…"

The rumbling of a large engine jolted them from their conversation, and both Gideon's and Judy's ears swiveled immediately to the rear.

"That's not just any truck engine, is it?" Judy whispered.

The fox sniffed the air once and turned around. "That's for somethin' big," he announced, squinting through the trees. "It's a semi. Next house over."

"This area get a lot of those?"

"Not usually." Gideon sniffed once more. "Hold on…"

The baker lunged forward, pushing limbs out of his way and wrestling his way through the foliage, trying to keep his eyes trained on the large truck on the other side. Judy followed closely behind, hopping over roots and trying to edge around the larger fox for a peek at whatever he was seeing as the noise grew louder, closer.

They were almost out of the woods when Gideon outstretched a paw to his left, where he had felt Judy on his heels. "Shh!" he whispered. "Get down."

The fox crouched, though Judy did not have to do much to conceal herself, but she found a way anyway to steal a glance into the yard next to the trees.

The truck did not have any sort of markings on its side or rear trailer that might have betrayed its owner or even who rented it, though the main truck, Gideon remarked, was significantly more helpful: "Triple Treat Concessions. That's who the festival rented out for a lot of its equipment, right?"

"I remember the name. They've been at this thing for years, haven't they?"

"Yeah. Good friend of Clover's runs it, if I recall. Gets the stuff cheap."

And sure enough, the back hatch was open wide, with a parade of rabbits, sheep and other workers Gideon recognized as some of Clover's usual volunteers loading boxes upon boxes inside, bringing them in from an open garage of the two-story brick home the driveway belonged to. Cords trailed out of some, while other objects were completely unboxed – giant speakers, mostly.

"Right. The barn dance. They're loadin' up for that."

Judy had her eyes on the driver, a bunny who had hopped into his compartment and seemed ready to go, speaking amenably with a goat holding a clipboard.

"That means it probably starts kinda soon, right?" she asked quietly. "Think we should get back?"

"Reckon so. If anything goes down tonight, it's happenin' there."

Judy nodded, following the side of the truck to the open doors, into and out of which no one was funneling anymore, simply waiting to be closed for the journey back into town.

And that was when she spotted them.

They were under the semi itself, hidden from sight unless someone had a vantage point such as Judy and Gideon did, a far-off view rather than standing directly beside the truck. There was a metallic ramp leading into the trailer blocking them from the line of sight of anyone coming in from the garage, and at least two were huddled right underneath it, peeking around the side to catch a glimpse of anyone who might be coming their way.

"Gideon," the rabbit whispered. "Underneath."

The fox saw Travis the moment he finally appeared in the waning sunlight – he moved quickly, scrambling out from underneath the truck and onto the ramp, pausing only to stare down at the garage but seeming to rapidly realize they were in the clear. He mouthed a few words and climbed into the truck back, followed by probably half a dozen others; there was Amy Growlett, Roland Weiss… and yes, Gideon nodded, Mike Robins.

"No way they're up to any good," he breathed.

"Agree. I'm going in."

There was no protest this time from Gideon, who followed close behind the bunny as they emerged from the trees, just in time to see the clipboard-wielding goat closing up the back of the truck for good. The field across which they had to traverse was not impassable, but it was long, stretching far to the blacktopped driveway in which the semi-truck rumbled.

Judy panicked, seeing the goat give a nod and a wave to the driver, who returned the motion and began to pull away. "Wait!" she called desperately, waving her arms mid-stride, hoping to catch the attention of the goat who stayed behind and watched as the lumbering vehicle departed. "Stop that truck!" But it was no use; the animal could not hear her over the deep boom of the truck's engine, and before long it dawned on her that there was nothing she could do to stop its progress.

The goat finally noticed the rabbit and the fox sprinting toward them and froze, nearly dropping his clipboard in surprise. Straightening his tie, he stepped toward them a few paces. "I… I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"That truck!" shouted the rabbit, nearly out of breath but pressing on anyway. "It's going back to the Fall Harvest Festival?"

"Er… yes, yes, it is. Are you with the constable?"

"What?!" Judy had reached the goat finally, skidding to a stop, the fox still huffing and puffing behind her. "Clover?"

"Well, yes. Did he send you? Should something have been loaded that we missed? That's the last truck out today."

Resting her paws on her knees, back hunched over in fatigue, Judy fished into her pocket and pulled out her badge. "Judy Hopps. Police. Something's on that truck that shouldn't be. We're gonna—"

The goat cocked his head. "Really, now? It's the same equipment from years past; Mr. Clover holds on to it every year just for the occasion."

Gideon turned his head left and right, still panting, while they spoke, finally resting on a mailbox that was placed out by the road. He laid a paw on Judy's shoulder.

"Uh."

"Huh?" Judy glanced up at the fox, and then followed his look to the mailbox, which she now saw read, in big red letters, on its side...

"Wait, is this the constable's house?"

"Yes," the goat said matter-of-factly, "of course it is. Now tell me—"

But Judy was already gone, shrugging off Gideon's paw and hightailing it back toward the trees, and Gideon knew immediately where she was off to, even if he was still processing the whole scene himself.

"Slow down, Judy, darnit, I swear."

He did not blame her, though; he was sure of that much, he thought, as he followed behind, not even giving the goat with the clipboard – or whomever else at the house might have observed the scene – a second thought. He knew Judy would want him to speed with all his might in his little delivery van back toward town to catch the truck, to be there when its contents were unloaded, to apprehend Travis, Mike and the rest of them before they could even do whatever it was they planned on accomplishing at the festival.

She had already ducked back into the woods, and Gideon followed through the small opening in the tree line they had made earlier, retracing their previous path until he could see Mike's truck in the distance, despite the later hour and setting sun that was causing visibility to lessen practically by the minute. They just needed to make it through to his delivery van, thrust the key into the ignition, maybe speed a bit down County Line Road, but Gideon did not expect the county cops to be patrolling raucous speedsters at that time of the weekend.

The diminishing light kept the fox from seeing Judy until it was almost too late, nearly crashing into the bunny, who had stopped short of Mike's truck before entering the clearing that led to Gideon's own vehicle.

Immediately he saw why she had stopped: a row of figures, five or six of them, currently cloaked by the shade and lack of sunlight – but their ears gave them away, no doubt about it. They were all rabbits.

And at their forefront stood, visible once Gideon's generally keen night vision adjusted to the dusk, Belle Thumper, her glare searing directly into the fox's own apprehensive stare, then to the supremely caught-off-guard Judy, mouth agape as she searched for a way to escape this predicament as quickly as possible, then back to Gideon.

The sun finally sank over the edge of the horizon, taking with it the last bastion of illumination the evening would see, giving way to twinkling stars that would dot the night sky overhead of the Fall Harvest Festival and its grand get-together while children played silly games and giggled at twirling, swaying, line-dancing adults against the din of midway barkers and the dull hum of mechanical ride engines.

There was nothing above them, though, except for the cover of trees, arched ominously over the campsite, curving like a protective shield over people who did not want to be found – either folks like Travis and his gang, hiding away until their chance to climb aboard a delivery truck perhaps to cause more mischief at an already tense celebration, or those who stood before Gideon and Judy now, blocking their path any way they shook it, cordoning off an arena where, in that moment, little else mattered but Gideon Grey, Judy Hopps and Belle Thumper.

The baker fox opens his mouth to speak, but words do not flow freely.

"You two," Belle snarled finally, taking a step forward, paws flexing, curling and unfurling, shoulders rounded menacingly. "We're gonna have a little chat, y'hear?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DEEP BREATH*
> 
> *YELLS*
> 
> OK, so this chapter: shorter, right? At least, shorter than what this thing usually ends up being. Two reasons for that: 1) I thought this was the cleanest, most sensible cut in the story, and 2) I just really wanted to get this posted, since it's been almost three weeks since an update. 
> 
> Why did it take that long? Simple, but silly, explanation: I staff a My Little Pony convention (YES I KNOW, LAME AS HECK, BUT MY FRIENDS RUN IT AND I LIKE MY FRIENDS A LOT SO HERE WE ARE ALSO APPLEJACK IS BEST PONY) and did a lot of last-minute con promo in the week leading up to the thing, which happened last weekend, so that coupled with my usual load at work made it hella hard to update. Finally managed it this week after overcoming a strong head cold and catching up at work/on sleep.
> 
> Aaaaanyway, don't really like droning on about my boring-as-heck life, I just wanted to provide an explanation for the one person out there who needed one for why this update took so long.
> 
> The next one won't! For real this time. Two more to go, maybe three, and this one really set up the finale perfectly, IMO. I'm excited to write it.
> 
> ilu bye


	15. The Big Bad Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep saying, 'Oh yeah, this next update isn't gonna take as long,' and then I keep lying and taking like two or three weeks. My bad!
> 
> I don't have much else to say with this one except that I went back and forth on a lot of aspects -- since this story's almost finished, I'm doing my best to tie up loose ends while also providing a thrilling climax. And since I don't really tend to write a lot of multi-chapter fics and also actually finish them, it's been tough, I won't lie. 
> 
> But I think I'm altogether good with how this one turned out.

There was a picture hung next to the staircase that connected the first and second floors of the Hopps homestead – one of many throughout the house; after all, Bonnie Hopps had been a master chronicler of her many children's exploits and accomplishments over multiple decades, and she certainly did not wish for even one of them to feel the pang of favoritism – especially against them – if she could help it.

Resultantly, the home – as well as its attic, with heirlooms stowed in boxes upon boxes in case the family somehow every came into more wall space – was practically wallpapered with different photos, mostly group shots that fit in more than one offspring as a space saver, so much so that Stu and Bonnie Hopps, as well as some of their older children who had been alive when they moved onto the farm, sometimes forgot what the actual wallpaper underneath even looked like.

Rarely would a framed photo of one single Hopps show up anywhere in the household, but there were exceptions, including that snapshot situated by the staircase, welcoming those who climbed to the Hopps home's mazelike second floor while beckoning a goodbye to folks on their way downstairs.

It was a simple photograph, make no mistake. There was Judy Hopps, no more than five years old, centered in the shot at some Carrot Days Festival of yesteryear at which she had probably performed some skit completely grandiose for her age, a tradition that grew and morphed into her eventual annual rendition of announcing her intent to become a police officer in Zootopia.

The tiny bunny was wearing a yellow dress littered with sunflower prints, and there was a straw hat atop her head that was far too big for her (as these often were, since parents often found such an image a choice photo opportunity), but she donned it proudly anyway, like a child finally scoring the chance to sit at the adults' table at family get-togethers. One foot was placed ahead of the other, her leg bent slightly as though she was practicing a little curtsy, paws delicately pinching the edges of her dress as she stared, her eyes a deep dark violet that still popped off the camera print two decades later.

Nick Wilde had already passed the picture frame a few times since first entering the Hopps' home. He did not notice it at first, his trips upstairs and down often either done in relative darkness or with Judy in tow, the bunny a distraction from the infinitesimal details of the household. But ever since the accident and his subsequent confinement to bed most hours of the day, the fox had noticed the picture a couple times, usually while being helped to the bathroom by one of Judy's grandparents or younger siblings.

He had never really gotten the chance to look at it, though – at least not before that exact moment, the fox leaning his weight against the wooden rails of the staircase, elbows propped onto the ledges as he studied the image of his partner and friend, much younger than he had ever seen her, except for the shortly-after-birth baby photos in which most bunnies, he decided, looked practically the same.

A creaking sound at the foot of the stairs startled him back to the present, but Nick was relieved to see Judy's grandmother there, her eyes half-lid as she stared up at him knowingly.

"Nice photo, isn't it?" she said delicately, settling her paws on her hips. "I remember that day. She was so excited to have that dress. I think we bought it for her from some vendor there that year."

"She might look happier when she and I order takeout from the bunny-run vegetarian place down the street from the precinct," Nick quipped, "but that's just about the only time I can remember coming close."

She shrugged. "When it's homegrown, or seems that way, that food's hard to match. I've got some ready downstairs for you right now, in fact." She cocked her head. "Unless you were actually just waiting for one of us to carry you down the steps. That it?"

"No, no, I'll be fine. Just be there to catch me in case I fall."

"You're on your own on that one, Nicholas."

Nick could not blame the older rabbit, frailer in her elder years but still sprightly for someone with hundreds of grandkids. Falling on top of her might turn her brittle bones to dust in an instant.

Plus, he insisted on descending the stairs himself. Going back up would be a whole other ballgame, but the fox thought he was feeling better – whether that was a false confidence brought on by the painkillers remained to be seen – and wanted to try to make it down to dinner himself, even if it meant scooting down on his tail step by step.

The tantalizing smells wafting invitingly from the kitchen and adjoining dining room area his guiding light, Nick winced through the occasional searing pain that wrenched through his waist and stepped all the way down, pausing at the mouth of the staircase to take a breather, one paw propped up on the end knob.

The rabbit beamed. "Good job," she congratulated. "Let me help you the rest of the way."

Not all of Judy's live-at-home brothers and sisters were there, that was Nick's first observation upon hobbling into the dining room with her grandmother's help. That made sense; Stu and Bonnie Hopps would still be at the Fall Harvest Festival until the later hours, and many of the children were still there too, either helping with the family's produce-selling booth or seeing friends and hanging out around the grounds. It was a much smaller welcome than his first night there, when practically the entire Hopps lineage had made its way to dinner, and he did not mind much – more breathing room.

"I want Nick to sit next to me!" was the first exclamation he heard, uttered definitively by Matilda, the youngest of Judy's siblings, who had taken a particular liking to the fox – or, at least, a predilection to climbing atop his extremities like he was a walking, talking jungle gym.

Judy's grandfather grinned from the head of the table as he doled out potatoes, carrots and an assortment of other vegetables and delicacies onto the younger ones' plates. "That'll be fine," he intoned, nodding at one of the chairs placed next to Matilda's, an adult-sized seat that Nick could actually fit on, alongside the smaller bunny's pseudo-high chair for the tinier among them. "Take a seat, Mr. Wilde. You look well."

"Medicinal magic, sir," Nick remarked, sliding into his chair with the help of Judy's grandmother, her paws slipping from his shoulders when he seemed upright and stable before hurrying off to bring a few more plates in from the kitchen. "Keep tossing me those and I'll be the happiest fox you've ever met."

"I think Gideon's the happiest fox I've met," chimed in Sawyer, a younger brother of Judy's no more than 10 years old. "He's always really happy when he comes over."

"That's because Mom and Dad give him supplies for his pies," Stu Jr. said with a wiggle of his nose. "I bet you he wasn't as happy before then."

"Yeah, didn't he hurt Judy one time?" came a voice from across the table Nick could not make out.

Clay, seated to Nick's right, shook his head. "You guys are missing the point. _This_ fox got hit by a car or a truck or something. Of course he's not happy."

"I'd jump over the car if it tried to hit me," Sawyer announced, turning back to Nick to make sure the fox was paying attention. "I would. I can jump really high. Do you wanna see?" He moved to get down from the table despite the steaming pile of food his grandmother had just placed onto the plate before him.

Nick watched all this, amused, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, while the bunnies' grandfather clapped his paws together to reclaim the attention of the chittering children, now in the midst of arguing whether or not any one of them could leap over a moving car – or if Nick could have done so if he had _really_ tried.

"Sawyer, back in your chair. It's dinnertime, not showtime. Matilda, that means you, too – no climbing on our guest. Clay, _I swear_ , if you throw another dinner roll—"

Ultimately, the two elder rabbits reeled in the young ones long enough to gather everyone around the table before, they assumed, chaos broke loose yet again.

"Now, kids, before you dig in…"

"We know, Grandma Ruth, we know," Clay said, rolling his eyes and taking a paw off the fork that sat next to his plate.

Smiling warmly, Ruth nodded at her grandson. "Then why don't you fill in Nicholas there on our tradition?"

The little rabbit sighed heavily and turned ever so slightly to Nick, though he avoided eye contact perhaps out of protest. "We recite this family proverb, or whatever Grandma and Grandpa call it. It's kinda dumb." He whispered the last part, but his grandmother heard anyway.

"There's nothing _dumb_ about being a Hopps, young man," she said, half-scolding.

"Mom and Dad don't even make us saaaay this anymore," he whined, tossing his body in an annoyed fit that nearly caused him to fall off his chair.

"What your parents do at the dinner table is their business, but the way I see it, I cooked this food you're about to eat, so it's practically my table."

"Not your plates, though," added Sawyer matter-of-factly.

"Astute, Sawyer," Judy's grandfather said from the head of the table. "Why don't you start us off, then?"

"…yes, Grandpa Roy."

Nick could not keep a grin from forming. "Oh!" he remarked as Clay, and then Matilda, took his paws on either side. The littlest bunny's paw was especially tiny in his, barely holding on to one claw. He grasped hers instead. "Reminds me of all the collectives I used to dabble in in the '90s."

Feeling Grandpa Roy's glare practically searing into his skull, he grinned apologetically and closed his eyes, as everyone else seemed to be doing.

The patriarch bunny began first, followed by his wife, and soon a chorus of smaller rabbits joined in.

" _Sons and daughters, sons and daughters_

_Though we may be small, our strength is mighty_

_Lean on one another, be a rock to your brothers and sisters_

_Be like the soil, fortify and enrich_

_The bounty of the harvest will nourish and our kinship will strengthen_

_Wrap your arms around one another, draw them close_

_Because no matter where we go or who we know_

_You'll stand tall with a Hopps by your side."_

Much later, after food was consumed and dishes cleaned, Nick joined Roy in the adjoining front room of the home, where a pair of couches, a reclining chair and one or two stools generally reserved for the younger children were placed around a television set that had seen better days. It was off; the room was quiet, except for the minute sound of the elder rabbit puffing on a pipe he held in his mouth.

"My son don't like it when I do this in the house," he said with a wave, setting the long brown object down on the coffee table next to him. "Stinks up the house, he says. I like the smell, though. Smoky. Earthy. Real." He offered it to the fox, who took a seat on one of the couches next to the recliner in which Judy's grandfather sat. "Do you?"

"Do I smoke or do I like the smell?"

"Both." He tapped on the pipe with his paw. "Answer right and I'll let you stay inside."

Nick smiled as he leaned back against the soft cushions that cradled his aching body. "Frankly, sir, it's a habit I gave up a decade ago. But there's something about tobacco smoke that I don't mind. My dad would break some out once a week or so when I was a kit."

"Oh? He quit too?" Roy took another few puffs.

"…nah, he passed a few years back."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's OK. I didn't see him much toward the end," Nick told the rabbit, resting a foot against the table in front of him, shifting slightly when a twinge of pain in his side alarmed him as it brushed up against one of the couch pillows. "A tight-knit family was… never really our thing anyway. Not compared to you bunnies, at least."

The rabbit grinned and set down his pipe again. "You wouldn't be saying that if you had heard what that grace back at dinner used to say about hidin' your silver from foxes."

After witnessing Nick's thunderstruck face, he began to guffaw openly.

"I'm kidding!" Roy chattered between laughs. "I'm kidding. I swear it. Stuart told me you made a joke about it when you came over and, well, I couldn't resist." He shot the fox an impish look. "Just out here causin' all kinds of hell in my old age."

"It's admirable, sir," chuckled Nick with a smirk. "I can respect that. Also, Judy's dad's name is _Stuart_?"

Roy blinked. "Well, yeah, Stu's short for Stuart. He's our son, Stuart is. Did Judy tell you that? I don't know if she explained whose grandparents were whose."

"We didn't get into the whole family lineage yet."

"Right, well, it's simple, I guess – Stu's our boy. Bonnie's parents… eh, we see 'em occasionally, and they come over from time to time, but I'm gonna bet you'll never meet them."

"Oh?"

Roy straightened in his chair, bringing the seat back up to an upright position. "Eh, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but that man's sort of mean – Bonnie came out five times better than anyone in that family ever could, you mark my words – and especially has a bit of an… issue with your kind, let's say. Last time we were all over at once, that Gideon Grey feller brings over a few pies, and Bonnie's dad, I swear to ya, he freezes up, and I know he's about to say something so I change the subject to somethin'-or-other in Zootopia, I don't remember now, but afterward, when that Gideon leaves, he looks over at me and says, 'Devil made 'em, foxes. That's why they're red. I ever tell you?'"

"What an adorable, charming, speciesist old rabbit. Can I hug him? I wanna hug him. What do you think he'd do?"

Roy laughed, and Nick continued – "No, really. Would his head blow clean off? Or do you think I should start chanting nonsense at him?" The fox sat up, ignoring the pain, and nodded, opening his paws in front of him like he was framing a painting. "Yeah, there we go. I'll start muttering some nonsense incantations at him like I'm about to curse him to an endless afterlife of cuddly fox kits crawling all over his body for all eternity. _Or_ I'll sing him some Talking Hares. He probably doesn't like rock music, does he?"

"What on earth are you two doing in here?" Ruth Hopps called, rounding the corner from the kitchen. "Roy, stop laughing so hard, you're gonna give yourself an ulcer again."

Nick smiled sweetly, toothily. "Grandma Ruth, did I come from the seventh circle of the underworld like all other foxes before me?"

"Oh my goodness, Roy, _stop talking about Bonnie's parents_ , you're gonna give him nightmares."

"That man does it to himself," Roy said, shrugging. "But sorry, dear," he added saccharinely.

Shaking her head, Judy's grandmother stalked away, though Nick noticed a smile had formed upon her face.

"I have to admit to you," Roy said once his wife was out of sight, watching Nick turn back toward him with an amused grin, "I may make fun, but… well, we didn't exactly raise our young'ns much differently. Not that we were telling them all predators were the spawn of evil," he added, shaking his head. "No, no, not like that. We raised Stuart and our other kids, though, on the principle that… that they should be _careful_ , that's all."

"I saw Judy's fox repellent," replied Nick, nodding. "I figured it didn't start with her."

"That may be true, but, look, Nicholas," he stood out of his reclining chair and stepped slowly over to the couch, where he, to Nick's surprise, took a seat next to him. "Times have changed quickly. Even what was common to us a decade ago often isn't anymore. You see these things, see the patterns, the older you get – I'm sure you've noticed them, too. But this place, well, it isn't Zootopia, as you're well aware by now. The people around here, they still have a ways to go when it comes to accepting others.

"But I want to tell you about how I learned to finally trust predators. It's a recent thing; I've been friends with 'em, sure, but really _trusting_ them, trusting them like I'd inherently trust a rabbit even if I didn't know them just yet, well, it started when my son started working with Gideon Grey. I was worried at first – what if it was all a con to steal from my son's farm? But the more I got to know Gideon, I realized that not only can bad apples change their tune, but sometimes apples like that aren't rotten to the core straight away."

Shrugging, Nick said, "Well, I think Gideon tends to have that effect on people he meets nowadays, so I'm not surprised. He's a good man. I'm happy to have met him."

"He wasn't the final straw, though," Roy continued, and Nick fell silent. "No, it was you, Nicholas. Nick. When I'd see the way Judy talked about you, when I'd hear the stories, when I heard that you _helped_ her solve that night howler case, even when you didn't necessarily have to, and when she told me how you stopped that sheep mayor together…" He paused, coughed, and continued. "Every time she comes home, the first thing she has to say has something to do with you. Nick and I did this, we went here, we solved this case, he took me out to dinner at this fancy place, we, we, _we._ And it made me realize," there was a glint in his eye, "that she had found her soulmate. And he's a fox."

He patted him on the back, taking care to avoid the lacerations he knew were on the opposite shoulder. "And if that's good enough for my Judy, then it's more than fine for me."

"You make it sound like I'm gonna marry the girl." Nick managed a smile, but he was not sure if the older rabbit caught the slight break in his voice.

"I'm not saying any of that. I just mean that she's found a friend for life. The _closest_ friend she could ever hope to find." He pointed back deeper into the house. "In my life, that happens to be Ruth. But we don't pick these kinds of things, Nick. They just _happen_. No matter if it's a bunny, a fox or someone in between. It's what that," he pointed at Nick's chest, "says that matters. And I know my granddaughter enough to be able to tell that's exactly what's happened."

He shrugged and winked. "And if it comes to more than that, well, we don't have to invite Bonnie's dad to the wedding. I won't tell a soul."

xXxXxXx

The first question Judy Hopps' mind could muster was simple: "How'd you find us?"

Although she already had an idea of the answer, at least to an extent. Gideon Grey's delivery van was not inconspicuous, currently parked out by the road outside the patch of forest in which they currently stood.

But why Belle Thumper and whomever else was with her had, it seemed, followed them in the first place? She was at a loss.

Belle, still a step ahead of the other half-dozen rabbits that accompanied her, crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her other leg. "Easy," she spat, words dripping with poise. "I looked for someone who looked like they didn't want to be found."

She pointed a paw at Judy, and then at Gideon. "And you two fit the bill just fine."

"That it, or did you just have an eye on Gideon?"

Belle shook her head definitively. "Gideon, you, the other fox – what's it matter? Y'all have been up to no good since you got here." She nodded back at one of the rabbits behind her. "Billy here told me you stopped by the house the other night. Knew right then and there somethin' was up."

"It's called police work, sweetie," breathed Judy, and she felt her paws begin to ball together tensely. "Nick wouldn't have come by if he didn't think it'd help our investigation."

"See, and that was my other thought," said the other rabbit. Her head tilted downward. " _What_ investigation? Skip Clover locked your culprit right up. Didn't you hear? Carl Pumaski, he's gone, gone, gone. Proof was right there in his dealership. And here I thought Zootopia's cops were supposed to be the best." She snorted. " _Oops_."

Even against the darkening sky, the sun already long gone after its sunset, Judy could see Belle's eyes narrow. "I might not have been able to keep preds out of this festival," she glowered. "But with Pumaski out of the picture, well, this might be a one-time thing after all. And I'm not gonna let you two, _especially_ some foxes, ruin that for me, whether he actually did it or not."

Judy eyed Gideon, who stood alongside her but had not spoken. She caught him as his gaze veered to the right, then to the left, then onto Judy, and she understood immediately: he was looking for a way out, but there did not seem to be one.

No way but forward.

Judy inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and nodded to herself. Put one foot ahead of the other. Opened her eyes. Grinned.

"Then I'm just gonna have to go right through you."

But as she was about to rush forward, she felt a paw clutch her shoulder.

"Wait."

Belle grunted. "It speaks."

Gideon shot her a deploring look, but it melted away when he glanced back down at Judy, giving her a meek smile and a nod. Judy knew immediately what he meant – let him try – though she could not mask her hesitance. But when the eyes flickered just once to his right – long and noticeable enough to get her attention, but in enough darkness that Belle certainly would not see – she fully received the message. There might be an opening nearby. If all else fails, take it.

He did not seem quite sure of himself in that moment, but Gideon trudged ahead anyway, pacing a few steps to Belle, holding his paw out in front of him as though it were an offering of peace. "Look," he finally spoke, and when he did, Judy realized his voice was lower, deeper, "I… I know you don't wanna hear from me…"

"Smarter than you look."

"…but just hear me out for a second here." When he was fairly certain neither Belle nor the bodyguard-like rabbits – brothers, certainly, maybe cousins too? – behind her would make their own move, he rescinded his paw and straightened to his full height, paws resting in pockets. "I heard about… about what yer dad did when he find out about Mike."

Gideon knew this would incite some sort of reaction from Belle – how could it not? – but he was not prepared for the look he received in turn, the floundering stare of a rabbit who usually had much more to say. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words left her lips.

"I think it's dumb," Gideon continued, swallowing once. "No way 'round it. I don't know the whole story, and it's yer own business so I don't ever expect to know, but," and he aimed a quick glance in Judy's direction, "y'shouldn't have to go through that. Not you, not nobody.

"And I dunno if that's what all this is about, or why yer tryin' to keep me and all the other predators outta the festival. I dunno if part of it's 'cause of what I did when I was young, and I can apologize for that for days, years, whatever y'want. But Belle," he sighed, "I am… I'm _sorry_ for what happened and for whatever pain you were caused. If I'd known then, I'd've… well… shoot, it just ain't fair. Not for somethin' innocent like that."

"Innocent?"

Belle's voice was quieter than before, but Gideon and Judy could still hear her.

" _Innocent_?" the rabbit repeated. "Look, fox, I'll bet you're real proud of yourself that you found out about something dumb I did when I was a kid, but don't you patronize me."

She was visibly shaking, and, noticing this, Billy, her brother, stepped forward and reached out a paw tentatively, placing it on her shoulder. She smacked it away.

"Don't you _dare_ , Gideon Grey." Her voice was louder now. "You know what you did to me when we were younger. What you did to everyone in that classroom. And you may say people can change, but I heard what happened at Sheila's coffee place the other day. You may have fooled Hopps here, but it ain't happening with me."

Judy stepped forward in protest, but Gideon, sensing her on his flank, put his arm out and stopped her. The rabbit felt the briefest of nudges to the right, and she was reminded again – look over there for an opening.

"And _innocent_ ," continued Belle, wiping her nose on her shirt and pointing accusingly at Gideon, who, despite the situation, tried to remain firm. "It's the furthest from innocent, you know that, right? I liked Mike – yeah, you found it out, congrats – but don't for one second think that means I don't regret it. Unnatural is what it is, Gideon. A fox and a rabbit should barely be _friends_ , let alone anything more than that."

She paused, and spoke again somberly. "Because all it does is bring you pain."

The fox in front of her felt far away from it all in that moment, from Belle, from her family, from Judy, from everything. Words continued to bubble to the surface, momentarily strengthening him, Gideon recognizing he had hit a soft spot in the rabbit's resolve and that maybe, just maybe, there was a deeper emotional piano string he could strike.

But instead he felt powerless to continue, to have even the slightest of comforting words, to defuse the strain undoubtedly sparking through the forest and between them, the rabbits and the lone fox, by his lonesome, not even Judy to…

Wait, Judy?

The entire group – Gideon, Belle, the other rabbits – realized it at once. In a quick motion, albeit light on her paws so as to not draw unwanted attention through the crunching of leaves or fallen tree branches, Judy had ducked into the underbrush Gideon had indicated, a small collection of bushes with a small opening, tiny enough for a fox to struggle through but just the right size for a bunny. As he had hoped, the other rabbits had not registered the movement as quickly as they might have in the daylight, what with lesser night vision than foxes.

On the other side, Gideon knew from searching around the campsite earlier, was another small clearing in the forest that would eventually run up alongside the one in which they stood, stretching back toward where his delivery truck was parked.

And Judy Hopps, he recalled, was a fast sprinter, even for a rabbit.

" _Where's she_ —" stammered Belle, whipping to her left and then all the way around, but even she could tell the damage had been done. Prickling his ears, Gideon heard the rabbit through the brush and foliage, then could see her ahead, long past their gathering, even though at least one of the other rabbits had made a move toward her, Judy's intentions dawning on him.

"Judy!" the fox called, reaching into his pocket. "Catch!"

Gideon did not have the weightiest confidence in his throwing ability, but he had little choice otherwise. He pulled out his truck's keys, nodded, reared back with one arm and let loose, watching the key ring go sailing over the Thumpers.

His aim was anything but true, but it achieved the desired effect: while she did not see it immediately and though she had to juke many steps to the right once she finally spotted the projectile key ring, she caught it – barely, with one outstretched paw, the other splayed out to brace herself for impact should she fall.

Now it was a matter of getting to her.

Belle was shoving through a few of the dumbfounded rabbits who had still not quite registered what was occurring, growling and sneering. "Out of my way. Seriously? I know you're kin, but—"

She stopped only once, swiveling her head and pointing wildly. "And don't let him pass!"

But Gideon was already prepared for what would come next; he had expected it, with seven rabbits opposing a fox and another bunny. Judy was an ace at close combat from her police academy days, tops of anyone in that forest, Gideon wagered. But would she have stood a chance had she run headlong into a spar with Belle and her family? Maybe, but Gideon did not want to risk it.

The fox, meanwhile, felt he was another story entirely.

"All right," he growled, unsheathing his claws on both paws. "Come and get the big bad fox."

He recognized a few of the rabbits now that they were closer – Billy and Bernice, two of the elder Thumper children and a pair he had certainly picked on when they were younger, were there, and his eyes locked with Billy's, the rabbit leading the five-bunny charge toward him, Belle and one of the others in pursuit of Judy.

Billy came at Gideon fast, paws outstretched but head down, reaching strikingly for the fox's waist. A male rabbit the fox did not recognize was behind him, his aim even lower, curving around at the last moment to target Gideon's knees. Bernice and two others held back from the initial charge, but they were still there, looming, waiting their turn.

There was a fleeting moment in which Gideon, gaze still locked on Billy, ran over the fates in his head, questioned whether this was the right decision – he, Gideon Grey, the former town bully with a reputation for slashing little bunnies' faces, about to fight his way through a pack of rabbits, probably doing some skin-deep damage in the process.

But once Billy Thumper, younger than Belle and the absent Blake by a year or so but still old enough to have lived through Gideon's violent years, came into view, the fox saw his eyes, widened in wild, unhinged detestation, the kind that would not go away with simple reasoning and talking through one's feelings, he felt as though he could legitimize it.

First, there was the other male rabbit, who had emerged alongside Billy and had been caught mid-dive, his arms extended, reaching for Gideon's legs. The fox sidestepped once, narrowly avoiding the diving bunny while outstretching his right arm – like one of those football players he had seen on TV, though he knew he was doing a poor job at emulating them – and connected with Billy's face, the rabbit's muzzle smashing against his palm.

But the other rabbit who had missed Gideon at first was much closer to his mark this time, and the fox was rustled by the bunny's arm wrapping around his knees, pulling once to try to level him.

" _Graahhh! Get off!_ "

Gideon snarled, trying desperately to shake one or both of his legs free, but the rabbit held steadfast, his grip only tightening even as he was shaken about like a rag doll.

"Hold 'im tight, Curtis," Billy, wrestling Gideon's paw from his face, barked. "That's it, yeah, just like that." He motioned to Bernice and the other two rabbits. "You three, get his arms. Bring 'im down."

He could feel himself slipping, paws stumbling against the dirt ground, struggling against all odds to stay upright but finding it harder and harder to do so while fending off the other rabbits. Curtis' grip was vicelike by then, and his legs were closer to buckling than he preferred.

Gideon slashed wildly at the air, claws still extended, hoping he would hit _something_ , but felt only air swoop between his paws. He no longer saw Bernice or the other rabbits, and he soon found out why: hesitantly at first, he felt little paws brush against his elbows, as though testing the waters for a firm grasp, which he, without meaning to, ended up giving to them. Just as Curtis gripped his legs like a knot of rope, the other rabbits locked their arms against where his forearms met the rest of his body, and though Gideon tried to fight against them, he was now incapacitated by four bunnies versus one fox – with another rabbit looming over him as he fell, finally, to his knees, his arms pulled back behind him, and he winced in pain at the angle.

Grunting, the fox strained against their grasp – he felt he could have easily taken one, maybe even two of them, but the more bunnies that stacked atop him, pinning him or holding him back, the less he felt like he could muster anything but defeat.

Billy, still standing before him, pressed a paw against the top of the fox's head, pushing it down, down, as though the fox were bowing before him.

"That's it," he grumbled, pressing firmer. "Stay."

Gideon's eyesight had begun to blur again around the periphery; he felt himself losing control, losing himself, darkening, distorting, _reddening_ —

He did not hear the familiar sound of his own truck engine until a few moments before the van arrived, proclaiming its entrance with the blinding white lights that fronted it, the snapping of branches and alarmed cries in its wake.

"What the—" Billy started, his grip, now on the back of Gideon's neck, slackening as he turned to face Gideon's delivery truck as it roared into the forest, barely through the tiny opening fit for vehicles and narrowly missing a few still-standing trees in the process.

Gideon blinked a few times, the red melting away as the paws that held him down began to slip away, first freeing his arms, and then his legs. His head whipped up, watching his truck roar into view, and he squinted through the darkening evening to see, just barely, Judy's head over the steering wheel, no doubt barely pressing the pedals while maintaining a path that did not involve running into anything – or anyone.

But the Thumpers, it seemed, were taking no chances. They scattered, Billy jumping off to the right and into the brush. The truck skidded to an abrupt stop, and though he could not see her fully, Gideon could hear Judy's call just fine:

" _Get in, Gideon! Hurry!"_

He did not have to be told twice. Standing woozily, the fox gathered his wits and launched himself toward the passenger-side door, wrenching it open while Judy drummed on the steering wheel impatiently.

Clambering inside, Gideon reached out a paw to grasp for the door handle but inside grabbed a handful of fur, specifically the tuft of hair atop Billy Thumper's head as he darted toward the truck, reaching for the fox who had evaded him.

"No you don't!" Gideon growled, shaking away his paw and swiftly aiming a hefty kick that met the rabbit in the chest, inciting a great exhalation of air as the bunny lost his breath and stumbled backward. Quickly, Gideon reached again for the door handle, this time not missing, slamming the door tight and throwing on the side door lock.

He meant to offer gratitude to Judy, but the rabbit was already speaking.

"Get over here," she exclaimed, lifting herself up onto the seat in a standing position. "I got this thing in here. You can get it out."

 _Thump! Thump!_ Alongside the van, loud banging persisted, stretching from the front to the rear, undoubtedly from Belle and the other rabbit Judy had somehow evaded. Gideon heard a knocking noise against the van's vertically flat hood; as he and Judy squeezed past each other into the opposite seats, he found himself grateful he had a van with such a nose configuration that prevented someone from, say, jumping up and down atop it.

But what he saw when he situated himself in the driver's seat was almost worst: Belle and Billy Thumper, climbing up the hood anyway, now almost eye level with Gideon against the windshield. Billy had a large rock in his hand. His arm was reared back.

"GO!" cried Judy.

Not even pausing to toss on his seatbelt, Gideon threw his paw against the gear shifter, rattled it into reverse and slammed on the gas pedal. The initial force was enough that Billy was thrown off the hood immediately, but Belle persisted for a few moments longer, grasping the van with iron-grip paws.

"She ain't budgin'," lamented Gideon, peering into his side-view mirror. "Wait, hold on, Judy!"

His red tail lights had illuminated a tree Judy had swerved to miss earlier and was now in their path yet again, and Gideon, braking slightly in case he overcorrected but remaining on the gas, turned the truck to miss it and situate the truck on the straighter path out of the woods, jerking the wheel a little harder than he needed to in the process. The sudden jolt proved too much for the rabbit still grasping his hood, and Belle slid off, her eyes broadened in surprise before rolling onto the leaf-ridden grass.

"Nice driving!" Judy shouted excitedly, banging a fist against the dashboard. "OK, watch out when we get outside, their trucks were sorta blocking you in."

And sure enough, the Thumpers' trucks – two pickups in total – were idled in the grass almost directly outside the mouth of the woods, blocking the path ever so slightly. But after Judy's warning, Gideon was ready, slamming on the brakes once they were past the trees, throwing the truck out of reverse and flooring the gas pedal yet again, this time speeding around the parked vehicles, out into the yard of the neighbors beside them.

Moments later, they were on the road, and Gideon could not remember a time he had ever driven the van faster than it was right then. The whole thing practically shook, rattling over every bump, protesting its relatively high speed compared to its usual slow-moving delivery runs, threatening to burst apart at the welded seams at any moment.

He clicked on his seatbelt, Judy doing the same as she studied her own rear-view mirror.

"They aren't in their trucks yet," Gideon said with a labored cough. "I don't see the headlights."

"They will be, though," Judy sighed. "I mean, probably, right? Gid, can this thing outrun them?"

The fox shook his head disgustedly. "Prob'ly not. But as long as we get back into town first, it don't matter."

Judy groaned, leaning her head back against the padded seat. "This is so stupid. _So stupid_! We can't just chase Travis, now we've gotta worry about the Thumpers too? What is Belle's _deal_?"

"And Clover, too, they were at his house," Gideon nodded, his voice calming slightly. "They were right under his nose the entire time." He glanced briefly over at Judy. "And Mike's truck… Nick…"

He straightened in his seat. "But, uh… y'know, thanks for that back there. For comin' back for me." He grinned. "Glad I got a cop on my side as crazy as you."

The rabbit could only smirk as she dusted off her shirt and jeans. "About had to sock Belle in the face to do it. Then almost ran her over once I got in."

"What was stoppin' ya?"

There were headlights on the horizon behind them. Judy and Gideon could only assume they came from the Thumpers' trucks; even if they were not, the stakes were too high to even entertain the concept otherwise.

County Line Road was mostly bare otherwise, with just a few cars heading the other direction. There were red tail lights way ahead, but Gideon had not yet reached them.

"OK," the fox said, exhaling. "Think my heart rate's got me out of heart attack territory. What do we do first? Do we find the truck with Travis and 'em?"

Judy nodded. "We have to. Start from there and begin searching if it's already been unloaded. We'll alert the county police, too. They'll need to know."

"Right."

The trip back felt like it took half as much time as it did getting there, aided certainly by the delivery van's high rate of speed but also anticipation as the lights of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival came into view.

"I'm gonna go left," announced Gideon as they arrived within the town limits. "Think I can throw 'em off behind us; they ain't close yet to tell us apart from any other truck. Also, the main barn's this way…"

Judy clapped her paws together. "Of course. The barn dance. They were loading equipment for the barn dance."

Sure enough, the semi-truck was parked a little ways from the big white barn in which much of the festival competitions and socials were held, a massive,three-story wooden edifice newly coated with fresh paint every year to give the appearance of novelty despite its age. Already the back hatch was open and large stereos, extra chairs and other equipment was being funneled down the ramp and into the building.

"Shoot," Gideon growled, slamming a paw against the steering wheel. "Too late."

"It's fine. Let me out here. You park."

"You sure?" asked the fox, sending the rabbit cop a side-eyed glance.

"Positive. I'm gonna go find the other cops. Maybe Clover if he's not in the barn already. If he is, that'll be your job, because I want you to head in there after you park."

"Yeah?"

Judy gripped the door handle, readying herself to leap out. "Warn everyone," she said. "We don't know what Travis is planning. If something bad's about to happen, that's where the most people are going to be."

"All right. I'm lettin' ya out." He slowed the truck to a crawl and then a stop. The rabbit tossed the door open and bounded out, grunting as her paws met the ground.

"Call or text me with updates," the rabbit ordered, turning back only halfway. "I'll see you soon, Gid."

She was gone before he could say another word, the door slamming as she bounded off, edging between two goats carrying a foldable, portable stage.

Gideon pressed on the gas, glancing into his rear-view mirror as he pulled around to the other side of the semi, at that moment quite unconcerned with the notion that he was probably not allowed to park there. Two trucks had entered the parking lot behind the barn as well, and he had a good feeling who they belonged to.

He only paused to lock up the van before lumbering inside, rushing through an open door into which much of the dance's supplies were being loaded.

There was a back hallway in the barn that led to a handful of storage areas, lit by dangling lamps hanging from the wood-planked ceiling above while copper fencing lined the very top of one side, providing a glimpse into the barn proper, or at least its main area. Gideon had not been in there often, but registration for vendors had been situated inside, so he at least had a passing lay of the foundation, knowing that the hallway into which he had emerged had a few doors that would open into the main area.

So that was where he veered, pushing through into the main chamber the first chance he got. It was well-lit, and while music was not yet playing, the space was atwitter with volunteers and festivalgoers alike, some still pushing benches and bleachers to the sides of the massive room, which stretched three stories to an arching ceiling with giant industrial fans constantly spinning for air circulation.

A mezzanine was situated on the end of the barn at which Gideon currently stood, set atop the back hallway, providing overhead viewing and seating on a limited basis while also providing access to a catwalk even farther up that led to the fans and a hole in the ceiling where an older fan used to be but was now covered with a temporary lid to block rainfall.

There was no sign of Travis, Mike or anyone else from their posse – not even in the rafters, as far as Gideon could tell. Good thing, but it did not ease his mind much.

His eyes darted to a portion of a stage that had already been set up from previous shows inside the barn that week. A microphone and its stand sat atop the stage, and judging by the jolting feedback that echoed through the room when a sheep tested it, tapping on the mic with a hoof, it was working. It was just what Gideon needed.

There might have been a time where the fox would have recoiled from the spotlight, not even considering the possibility of public speaking in a room full of animals he had once hated, but now was not the time to give in to such anxieties, Gideon decided. He leaped onstage, grabbing the microphone, the mic-testing sheep dodging out of the way.

" _Listen up_!"

The resulting noise shook the stage on which he stood, and its power extended to the whole crowd, too, many gasping while others covered their ears. A loud screech had accompanied Gideon's panicked yell, and he knew immediately what went wrong: no need to shout into a microphone already amplifying one's voice considerably.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized, waving his paws. "Sorry, everyone, I got a little excited there. But ya gotta listen to me and listen to me good: somethin' is wrong and y'all may not be safe here."

There were audible gulps from the crowd, festival volunteers and attendees alike, all now trained on the fox that addressed them.

"Those predators," Gideon continued, "the ones that… the ones who almost attacked on opening day. We think they're here. And… a-and we need to—"

"The only attack I saw on Thursday almost happened in my shop!"

Gideon's eyes darted around, scanning for the source of the interruption, even though he knew the voice immediately: Sheila, who ran the Icy Koala.

The crowd directly in front of him parted, necks craning behind them, and then there was the koala indeed, paws cupped over her mouth as she yelled.

"This fox came into my store, broke my merchandise and lost his temper when another of his kind walked in," she continued, and Gideon read upon her face not anger, but fear. "Scared kids. I almost had to close up for the day. It's true! Some of you were there!"

"Now, wait just one minute."

Bonnie Hopps had appeared beside Gideon, to his utter relief. Her paws were placed firmly against her hips. She must have already been inside doing prep work, the fox surmised.

"I think everyone here should let Gideon talk, in light of what's happened lately," Bonnie continued, raising her voice to just below a shout. "If there's trouble—"

"Of course _you'd_ say that. You Hoppses work with him!" a voice cried from deep in the crowd.

There was a murmur of recognition, a few voices raised in agreement. Gideon slunk back a bit, stepping away from the microphone.

"He's tryin' to break Carl Pumaski out of jail, too!" came the last vocal the fox had wanted to hear, a dark, purring tone that unmistakably belonged to Belle Thumper. Wincing, Gideon whirled to his right, spotting the rabbit, breathing heavily as though she had just sprinted there, her six family members in tow, a few of them glaring menacingly at Gideon. Billy was smiling.

Belle stepped forward. "That's right, everyone. This fox," she pointed behind her at him with an accusatory paw, "wants you to believe that Constable Clover's discovery of the missing festival stock that was found in Pumaski's home and car dealership somehow does _not_ mean he's the crooked villain we all know him to be. Why do you think he's been away from that booth of his so much?"

Gideon began to shake his head. Bonnie rested a paw on his shoulder but said nothing.

"All this fox wants to do is cause panic. We followed him here, see. We heard his whole conversation. I'll bet if something _does_ happen, he's part of whatever it is." Belle turned to Gideon and narrowed her eyes. "I think everyone in here remembers what good ol' Gideon here used to do to your children, after all."

Judy's mother had stepped up to the microphone now as Gideon backed away. He briefly thought of texting Judy, or to look at his phone and see if she was having better luck than he, but everything was beginning to go fuzzy, Bonnie now speaking while Belle shouted back, and people were crowding the stage in front of him.

But all he could do was back away and stare, all their voices melting into one cacophonous mass, the shouted arguments as tensions boiled over masking what was happening above them as the lid that covered the former fan hole in the ceiling budged just a little bit.

xXxXxXx

A county officer named Perkins was nearby, but Judy did not garner his undivided attention at first.

The coyote was banging on and smacking a radio he held firmly in his paw, shaking it, taking out the batteries and slotting them back in. Then he would speak lowly into it, bring it back in front of his face, stare bemusedly and repeat the process.

He was finally startled out of his concentration when Judy was right next to him, breathing heavily, panting with her paws against her knees.

"Officer Hopps," the coyote murmured, "one mo—"

"Where's everyone else?" demanded Judy, looking up. "Can you call them?"

Perkins grimaced. "Afraid you came at the worst time possible. I can't seem to."

Judy blinked. "You're kidding me."

"Kiddin' is for goats, miss," the cop shook his head. "I can't call 'em." He pointed at his radio. "No one's coming in on our frequency."

Judy stared at the small black device bewilderedly, straightening to her full height after recovering from her quick sprint there. "Well, one of them's gotta be around, right? Maybe it's just your radio."

"Naw, they should be all together. Only been one of us on patrol most of the time, rest of us just play cards, it's been so quiet." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But… we were gonna have two of us on duty tonight at all times, and I should've been relieved before then. 'Cept , well, as you can see, I'm still out here."

"Then let's check the break room they set up for you. This is important!" Judy tugged at the coyote's sleeve, trying to direct him toward the schoolhouse, where they had been stationed.

"Hold up one moment, now."

She glanced up at the officer, his eyes a little wider.

"You tell me what's goin' on first."

"The predators we've been looking for, the ones that went missing Thursday night," Judy explained quickly, her gaze still darting to the schoolhouse a little ways down the street. "They're here. Somewhere, I don't know where, but they're here. We need all officers on patrol and finding them before something big happens."

"…y'serious?"

Judy rolled her eyes. "Come _on_ , we need to go, _now_."

She led the cop by the paw most of the way, arriving at the schoolhouse's front door.

The lights were off. The door was locked.

"Are you _kidding me_?" yelled Judy, kicking the front door once. "Why'd they close this down so early?"

"The dance, I reckon?"

"Maybe, but what about the other officers?"

Perkins peered into one of the side windows, cupping his paws over his forehead to see clearer. "There ain't a light on in there," he noted. "Except for the exit sign in the back. They cleared outta here fast – I swear it was open not 10 minutes ago."

"Try calling them again," demanded Judy as she checked her own phone. "I'm guessing they moved them somewhere else since they were closing down the schoolhouse for the day." She looked back up at the coyote officer, shaking her head. "I may leave you to that. The longer we stand here…"

"D-do you need to get inside?"

Edmond, one of the festival volunteers, had known Judy for years, and vice versa. She was a year or two ahead of him in school, but they had the occasional class together nonetheless. Judy had not spoken to him in a while but had seen him Thursday morning, before the festival began, brandishing a fire extinguisher to douse the flames Travis and his friends had lit before Clover simply did it himself.

"Edmond," she said, "yeah. It would be nice. Do you mind?"

The white rabbit glanced around, left then right, repeat, then behind him, before nodding. "Yeah," he replied, now whispering. "Yeah. One second."

He fished a ring of keys from his khaki shorts pocket and jammed the relevant one into the door. It clicked open.

Giving a quick bow and a wave, Perkins stepped inside, and Judy was about to follow him. Instead, she felt Edmond grab her elbow.

"Wait."

She turned. "I need to talk to the other county officers, Edmond," Judy urged, trying to pull her arm from his grip. "What's up?"

"…uh, I need to, too."

"Good, then—"

"But this shouldn't have been locked up. I don't know why it is. They should be in here."

Judy whipped back around. "So someone locked them in?"

Edmond sighed deeply. His surreptitious glances to either side of him were getting more and more prolific. "I don't know that part," he admitted, his eyes studying the ground, "but… Judy, I was going to tell them, but there's something you should know."

He looked up. There were tears in his eyes. Not the tears of sadness, but of anxiety. Worry. _Fright_.

"I saw that ferret," he blurted out finally, quivering. "Just the ferret, I dunno about the others. But he's here. He was out by the barn, the big one, where the dance is, but on the side over by the trees – w-where… where we store stuff, y'know? No other reason to be over there. He had this hood on but it was pulled down enough that I could see his face."

"How long ago was this?" Judy demanded, glancing off in the direction of the barn, which was a beacon of shining light by now, pouring out of its many open windows as though spotlights were pointed directly out of them. She could hear music, too – a sure sign the dance was about to begin, if it had not already.

"Just a few minutes ago, but that's not the point. Judy…" the rabbit gulped, his paw shaking, an ailment he finally ceased by banging his fist against his thigh – and when he did, he locked eyes with Judy, and she could see nothing but dread in them. "He's got all these cans of something, I don't know what. And he's... _Clover_ was there, Judy, they were just _talking_. It was them. I know it."

Judy ran inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH, NEXT CHAPTER IS MORE THAN LIKELY THE LAST, LOL.
> 
> It'll probably also be a bit on the longer side, like this one. Probably gonna try to go out with a bang.
> 
> As always, thanks for following along. You rock. <3


	16. The Flowers Among the Weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy and Nick are given a task that seems more like a fun getaway: providing a little security for the annual Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival. But things aren't as peaceful as they may now be in Zootopia, and the two cops are thrust into a brand new caper - solved with the help of a certain pastry-baking fox from Judy's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Notes after the break, but if you're about to start reading, settle in, because it's a long one.

"Follow me."

Gideon Grey felt himself being tugged – or maybe pulled or forced was the more accurate word, because it was certainly a mighty drag – off stage and into a darkened alcove behind it that led into the back hallway of the barn, the area that seemed to have been an added-on afterthought for an otherwise spacious, but traditional, building.

Bonnie Hopps was beside him in a moment, but she, wringing her paws fretfully, had not been the one who pulled the fox away from the teeming, argumentative crowd that grew by the second, as spectators poured inside before the imminent barn dance of the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival to see what all the ruckus was about.

Instead, Mayor Cotton dusted herself off in front of the fox and rabbit, brushing her paws over her tight cherry-red flannel and dark, almost black jeans. A thin layer of particles – sawdust, kicked-up dirt, whatever else Gideon could not quite place – fell from her in a gently wafting cloud that dissipated soon after.

He was the first to speak. "Mayor, I…"

"Sorry for the abrupt departure, hon," Mayor Cotton cut across him like a blade, giving her shoulder one last flick. "I'm not quite sure what I stumbled into, but if they're not hearing out Bonnie, there's no point in you being around right now."

The rabbit folded her arms and looked to the fox, then to the mother of Judy Hopps, whon seemed out of breath, chest heaving in frustration. "Gideon, you need to tell me what happened out there. And no sugarcoating it. There's a mess of angry prey out there and I need to know why." She pointed beyond them. "Because that. Isn't. Normal."

"Travis is here." The fox came out swinging, breathing deeply after he said it as though the ferret would materialize alongside them at any moment. "Or… or we're pretty sure. He ain't alone, neither, and they're prob'ly up to no good."

Cotton's tight clasp across her chest slackened just noticeably. "You saw him? And the others that were missing?"

"They took a truck in. It was out by Clover's place, they jumped in when nobody was lookin'. We got here—"

"We?"

"Judy was with me. She's off lookin' for 'em, I reckon. Maybe already found 'em, who knows, I hope so. But I came in to tell folks, 'cause…"

Cotton nodded. "The dance." She glanced over at Bonnie. "You saw all this?"

"I was inside when Gideon was warning everyone. They… didn't want to hear what he had to say." Her voice quavered.

Whatever din had grown inside the barn's open area had quelled substantially; Gideon could hear a voice speaking over the microphone in calming, palliative tones.

"That's one of mine," Cotton said, indicating the voice after recognizing Gideon's curious look. "Told him to calm everyone down. He'll get 'em there. Though I don't recommend going back out there anytime soon."

Gideon sniffed and shrugged. "Right, Mayor, but what about—"

"If there's a threat," she said pointedly before the fox could finish speaking, "we're going to deal with it – me, my team, our local force and the county effort." Her ears, folded down against her back previously, perked up. "Speak of the devil." Her gaze was beyond Gideon now. "My dear constable, a word?"

Constable Skip Clover peered at them from beneath the brim of a brown cowboy hat pulled down just above his eyes. He had two rabbits in tow, neither saying a word, simply trailing the well-known city official on either side, practically symmetrical astride one another. Clover had rounded the corner into the alcove, clearly intent on making his way to the stage. It was clear, too, that he had not expected the trio in front of him to have been blocking his way.

"Folks," the rabbit greeted cordially after the briefest of noticeable hesitation. "Mr. Grey. Mrs. Hopps. My dear mayor. Happy Saturday!" He struck a glowing smile. His cohorts did not.

"Skip, I take it you're on your way to kick off the dance, then?" asked Cotton, maneuvering to the point immediately.

Nodding, the constable and part-time festival emcee rested his paws against his sides. "It's time to get things going, I reckon, don't you? All the extra equipment's been loaded in; I just got back from checking on that personally." He grinned, and his gaze found Gideon. "I hope you and some of the other newcomers are stayin' for the festivities, Gideon. Would love to show you how us folks throw a party 'round here – gonna make that fest over in Foxgrove look like a quaint get-together in comparison."

"I'm afraid we might need to hold off for a moment on that," Cotton interjected, folding her arms. "Gideon here says he saw our little missing troublemakers from a few nights ago slinking around the place."

"That so?" Gideon noticed the corners of Clover's smile twinge ever so slightly.

"Says they stowed away on the delivery truck coming from your place. Mighty strange, wouldn't you say?"

"Positively peculiar." The smile was gone. The fox felt the constable's hot gaze burrowing into him. "May I ask why you were snoopin' around my property, then?"

Before Gideon could respond, Cotton cut across him. "Now's not the time, I'd say, Skip," she declared brusquely, dismissively waving a paw. "I'm curious too, but let's tackle that when the time comes. Because if that bunch is here again, chances are they're up to no good."

Clover lingered on Gideon a moment longer and then turned away. "Probably a good hunch." He swiveled his head slightly, and the ears of the rabbits behind him pricked. "Can y'all handle this?"

His pair of volunteers glanced at one another, nodded and stalked away briskly, rounding the corner into the back hall.

The mayor was not yet pacified. "Appreciate the small effort, Skip, but maybe you should be –"

"Listen up," he asserted, training his eyes on the mayor. "I gotta go in there and what the good townspeople here have allowed me to do for the past decade: put on a show."

Cotton cocked her head. "There's a time and place for celebration, but you're hired to _protect_ , first and foremost. Not entertain."

"That's what I'm doin'."

"I don't follow."

He pointed a paw at Gideon, practically in the fox's face, and Gideon sniffed in spite of its intrusion, glaring down the bridge of his snout.

"If what he says is right," started Clover, his voice having lost every bit of its ceremony that began their conversation, "and let's be clear, Mayor, we've got no evidence other than the Greys' word that these folks even showed up the other night after we told 'em to turn tail and head home – but regardless of that, if they're back, and they're up to somethin', I still don't think it's gonna benefit any of us to waltz into there right now," he balled up his one paw and specified the main gathering area of the barn with the other, "and tell good, innocent people that we think somethin' is the matter."

"But Skip, I'm not sure that keeps people _out_ of danger." Bonnie had been silent for a while; Gideon had nearly forgotten she was there at all.

"S'long as my team does its job, it will," he said shortly. "And in the meantime, if we go in there and say, 'Well, sorry, folks, but dance is canceled on account of some predators who may or may not wanna cause some chaos involving you and your family,' that's gonna incite a panic when there may not be any need for one."

The rabbit shook his head and straightened the frilly shirt collar around his neck. "And I'm not interested in making our good neighbors any more on edge than they already are with this mess. My team will be posted around the perimeter – they'll see them before they come in. Simple as that. Because they sure as heck aren't already inside – we'd've seen 'em."

There was a pause in the admittedly one-sided conversation. Gideon felt at a loss, wanting to chime in and express his concern but at the same time uncertain if Travis and the others had even come inside, let alone had any sort of designs on the dance and the breakdown of its safety. He could not necessarily find a weighty argument against Clover's point, either; if an authority figure went into that barn right then and there and told them, shortly after the hubbub that brewed from the fox's simple warning and the civil, but spirited, unrest that followed, that everyone might be in danger, then he could only imagine what pandemonium might follow.

So it did not surprise him when Mayor Cotton responded the way she did.

"As much as this doesn't sit well with me, Skip, I don't think you're wrong." The rabbit shuffled to the side, allowing a place through which Clover could pass. "And as long as you have faith in your team…"

"I do. Though perhaps the county folks should be notified. Heck, where's your daughter?" Clover said, remembering suddenly. "She can help as well, can't she?"

"She's already off lookin' for the county crew," Gideon answered, glancing around as though she might turn up. "Prob'ly found 'em by now."

"We'll go look for her just in case," announced Bonnie, pinching Gideon's elbow. "No trouble at all."

Clover adjusted the brim of his hat one last time. "Then excuse me, y'all," he spoke, the pageantry returning to his voice, "but I've got a show to run."

But once he was through the small clearing in the wood and into the brightly lit barn area…

"Mayor… yer sure?"

The fox had barely meant to even vocalize the question out loud, but he could not help himself, the culmination of a sudden anxiety borne from realizing that, regardless of how the night would go, he could not return to the dance.

The Thumpers would undoubtedly see to that.

Cotton sighed, pulling up the sleeves of her flannel in the evening heat and fanning herself with a paw. "Constable Clover is in his position for a reason, and I don't pay him just so I can second-guess him all day," she said gently. "I'm no micromanager. The best I can do is see to it that his team is on high alert like he says it is and do my part in any way I can. The same goes for _all_ of us."

"C'mon, Gideon," Bonnie breathed, brushing a paw against his arm. "Let's go find Judy."

"And perhaps you should stop by your booth while you're at it…" suggested the mayor with a meek smile. "Seems like I've seen your brother there more often than you this weekend, and he could use the owner's paw in teardown tonight, I'm sure."

Gideon grimaced. Colt _had_ been quite the prolific substitute that weekend.

"Suppose that's right, Mayor. See ya 'round."

The evening had a cool, crisp temperament to it, a welcome feeling juxtaposed against the condensed heat inside the barn that necessitated quite a few large industrial fans to circulate air in an otherwise crowded space.

But Gideon, breathing it in deeply so that it chilled his lungs, was more gracious for the nighttime and its lack of illumination that cloaked him somewhat from animals who might recognize him otherwise, those who might point out that dumb fox who had made a fool of himself in front of the town not once but many times in the span of a few days after a first half of the week that seemed ripe with promise.

"I'll go find my daughter," Bonnie said finally once they were outside. "You heading back to the booth?"

"Suppose so."

"Tell Stu I'll be there soon to help pack stuff up for the night if he hasn't already."

"Sure," grunted the fox, and a few moments later he was alone again, which he quite preferred for the time being.

The path outside the barn that led to the general vendor area passed through what was usually a grassy lawn full of trees, flower beds and other pleasant growths complementing the picturesque downtown of Bunnyburrow, but it was well-worn from days of passersby trudging along it to other parts of the festival or to the nearby parking lot where most left their vehicles. It was mostly empty at that point of the evening and quiet enough that Gideon could make out the muffled sounds of Clover speaking to those at the dance over the microphone – and, shortly after, the exploding kick-drum beat of a folk-y melody to start an evening of music.

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his phone, texting a quick message to Colt: "Be right there," he typed, "how're things?"

Another missive blinked at him from the home screen once his first one sent; it could not have been in his inbox long. Gideon recognized Judy Hopps' name immediately and tapped it open.

The fox was outside the schoolhouse moments later, huffing and puffing, markedly out of breath but having reached the place as quickly as he could.

Judy emerged from the front door, Edmond in tow.

"I got here as fast as I could," Gideon panted, paws against his knees as he gasped for air. "Y'… should be proud of me, done more runnin' this week than I have… since high school."

The rabbit cop cut to the point. "The county cops were locked in a room downstairs. Well, not locked, _barred_. Someone deliberately stuck a chair under the door handle so it wouldn't budge from the inside."

"Oh. That's swell."

"Yeah. Don't know why, but someone obviously knew that if they stuck them down there they'd have no cell phone or walkie talkie reception."

"It's practically a dead zone," chimed in Edmond, "we noticed that earlier this week."

"So who did?"

"Some goat no one said they'd seen around, but he was wearing a volunteer badge, so they didn't think anything of it," the other rabbit said timidly. "Lucky I had my keys…"

"And that's not all," Judy interrupted, tapping her foot with increasing rapidity against the concrete front stoop of the schoolhouse. "Edmond here says he saw Travis." She paused. "With Clover."

Gideon's mouth hung open; suddenly his fatigue seemed a world away. "Wha—"

"I'm positive. It was them." The rabbit stomped his foot derisively, shutting his eyes tight. "This whole time – the constable – I don't know…"

The fox rubbed his forehead with a paw. "This don't make no sense. None at all."

"You're right. It doesn't," Judy agreed. "Not immediately. But whatever's up," she pointed to the illuminated barn, "I think that's where we're gonna find our answers."

She turned to Edmond. "Once the county cops get situated, tell them that's where we went. Think you can do that for us?"

The rabbit nodded. "I'm sorry this happened. I wish I'd known…"

"None of us did. No use going back over it now."

Gideon straightened his back on the front stoop of the schoolhouse, head turned toward the barn from which he had just come. Swallowed. Though it was certainly the last place he wanted to be in that moment…

"All right, let's go, then."

Judy took the lead, as the fox had hoped; after all, he still had not quite decided if his re-entry into the building was part of his master plan. He hung back a few paces while the rabbit, not exactly sprinting but keeping a brisk pace, darted off to the barn, from which they could hear the dull boom of music and mingled voices.

And then he heard it. They heard it.

It was not a scream, but the sound they heard certainly bordered on one, its volume piercing the night and causing anyone not already inside to turn their heads as if by instinct. Female, and panicked. Definitely panicked.

A pig tore from the entrance of the building. She was not the source of the yell, but there was a heightened dread in her look nonetheless as she ran, practically tripping over herself, barely catching herself on one side before nearly toppling over moments later the other way. And she was only the first in a stream of animals of different shapes and sizes, even predator and prey, all gushing forth in one concentrated direction: out.

Judy squeezed through them easily, darting in and out of trampling feet and stumbling legs; Gideon lost sight of her fairly quickly and found himself unable to evade the current of in-motion bodies as easily. The fox was body-checked a few times, not out of malice but sheer accident in an effort to move quickly, and he could not help but perk up his ears to listen for a clue among the assortment of grunts, yelps and jumbled voices.

"Excuse – _OOF_ – _excuse_ me, what in—" he stammered, momentarily breathless from a shot in the gut from a sheep's elbow.

"You some sorta fish? Swimmin' upstream? We gotta _go_ ," bleated the sheep, who turned only momentarily to shout at the roadblock fox before disappearing into a sea of fleeing mammals.

There were yells coming from inside the barn, shouts of alarm Gideon could barely make out as, in some cases, cries of pain amid the hubbub. Elbowing his way past one last rabbit, who held three young kids in her arms, their heads all turned toward the barn to face that from which they absconded, Gideon finally got a clear look at what was happening inside.

Soundtracked by a bed of swift, unassuming bluegrass music clearly meant for a line dance, there were about a dozen animals – all prey, that was Gideon's first realization – on the sawdust-laden floor, some writhing about, all covering or rubbing at their eyes.

Black figures stood above them, beings cloaked head to toe and everything in between in a dense fabric that allowed no suggestion of what teemed underneath, no muscle, fur, not even a tail – whatever they wore covered that too as deftly as possible, though a few bulges where one might poke through the suit were clearly visible.

And they all wore hoods and masks. Fox masks – there was no mistaking their shape, the pointed nose, the orange and white markings.

_Pss. Psssssss._

The rattle of a can was accompanied by the hissing of a spray can – like a can of compressed air, or, worse, fox repellent.

And then it dawned on him. _Repellent_.

"Doggone it."

Judy was already a few steps ahead of him. Her tranquilizer gun was pulled and aimed ahead of her, but she had not fired yet.

"I can't get a clear shot on any of them," the rabbit, spotting Gideon, called. "Where's Clover?"

Gideon spun around. Nothing. But he did, however, find…

"Mayor!"

She lay in a heap not far from Gideon. The fox stumbled over to the rabbit, whose face was concealed by fumbling paws that struggled in vain against eyes closed tightly shut.

"Mayor, I—"

"Find the… the county c-cops," stuttered the rabbit as Gideon held her arms gingerly. "Cure."

 _Smack_.

A body slumped to the floor nearby. Another rabbit. A dart protruded from her waist.

"Cheese and crackers," swore Judy, smacking the gun she held in her paw. "It moved her – it saw me…"

The spraying and hissing of cans of repellent had subsided inside the barn. Each figure – Gideon now counted three – had turned to face Judy, one pulling itself out from behind the doubled-over rabbit Judy had hit, clearly having dragged the smaller mammal in front of it at the last moment to take the shot from Judy's gun instead.

From behind one mask, she heard the muffled voice: "Shoot, didn't expect you so soon…"

Gideon had barely gotten a good look at all of them – varying sizes, but mostly larger mammals, it seemed – before one clapped its paws together, and the entire group scattered. One knocked over the microphone stand, causing screeching feedback to bounce throughout the now-nearly empty hall.

And to his surprise, as they moved to leave, others filed in – townsfolk, for that matter.

"Judy! Judy!" Aaron Longfellow cried from the doorway, panting as he curled a paw around the frame.

She had been pinned to the spot, her gun still outstretched but with nary another dart fired, when he entered, and Judy lowered it immediately.

"Aaron, what are you—"

"They knew we'd run," he groaned, eyes wide, almost static-charged in their crackling intensity. "More was waiting for us outside – c'mon, now!"

Judy was past him in a sprint, and Gideon stood to follow.

"Aaron," he instructed quickly, "the others, they escaped, least I think they did. But all these folks – can ya make sure they're all right? The mayor 'specially."

The rabbit nodded. "There's an antidote, isn't there? One of those little pens filled with the stuff. They were spraying repellent, right?"

Gideon sniffed once. "Smells sorta like it. Even if it's predator spray, that stuff'll mess with anyone who's dumb enough to get it in their eyes, so the cans'll say."

"The county folks should carry—"

"That's what the mayor was sayin'. I'm off to find 'em. They should be comin'."

Kneeling next to a goat who seemed to be finally shaking off the ill effects of the spray, Aaron bowed. "I'll keep watch."

Outside, a cool evening breeze mingled with intermittent cries of alarm and the unmistakable rattle of the cans that the mammals Gideon assumed to be Travis and his friends wielded. There was a large crowd gathered nearby, bound together as though a herd of like-minded individuals who could barely think for themselves past what their neighbor might have to say – and, Gideon thought, he was not just thinking that because they were mostly sheep.

He heard Judy's voice. Ran toward it.

Her gun was pulled again, and alongside her stood Perkins and a few of the other county officers. Gideon swiveled his head just in time to see the other cops disappear into the barn. _Good_ , he thought, satisfied.

"Now, this is just some… extreme misunderstanding."

He knew that voice too. _Clover_.

Wait… Clover? Now?

Judy sucked in a deep breath of air and exhaled, her shoulders arched as she held her gun with both paws. Perkins was similarly situated, as were a few of his fellow officers, all in practically a straight line that preceded a crowd of attentive, but alarmed, townsfolk.

Across from them, on the precipice of the wooded area alongside the festival, the one that led to the baseball diamond, Constable Clover held, struggling, in clenched paws one of the cloaked mammals. It struggled against his grip – not soundly, but enough that the rabbit seemed to be doing his best not to let go of it completely. Three of his volunteers were in the same position, two doubling up and clutching a larger, fox-sized animal that strangely seemed all too willing to abide.

"You heard me, Skip Clover," maintained Judy in a firm, commanding tone, her voice carrying surprisingly far despite her smaller stature. "You don't move a muscle either."

"Judy." Larry Goatsby, a friend of Stu Hopps and a fellow vendor, stepped forward from the crowd, wringing his hooves in disarray. "Judy, calm down, the constable's got them…"

"Listen to your dad's pal, Judy. The mayor might have brought you here to help out," he said curtly, "but _I'm_ still in charge here."

"Then tell your _constituents_ , dear Constable, what you were doing with Travis just this evening."

He snorted. "Mighty presumptuous. That ferret hasn't been seen around here in days – doing exactly what I asked of him and his friends."

"That so?" Judy called with a smirk. "Then how about taking off the mask of whomever you've got right there, hm?"

"Why, I hardly think loosening my grip on this wrongdoer just to take off a disguise would be the right course of action right now – didn't they teach you _anything_ at the academy, Hopps?" He motioned with a flick of his head. "Maybe if some of my good friends from the county police here would help me…"

Judy glanced over at Perkins. The coyote caught her gaze and returned a reassuring nod.

"All right, then, if you're not willing to own up to meeting with them before all this went down, then how about explaining why I saw them boarding a truck right on your property just an hour or so ago to make it here in the first place?"

"Again, a fairytale, simply b—"

"They were under your nose the entire time."

These words had not come from Judy, but from another rabbit entirely.

Belle Thumper stood in front of the rest of the crowd; she had emerged near Gideon, who still watched from the side nearest the barn. She wore the same determined, gritty expression Judy had encountered often that week. It felt good to see it facing someone else this time.

"The last two days," Belle continued, her voice low, nearly indistinguishable. "These preds were practically in your backyard. _Your_ backyard, Constable, of _all_ people in this entire burrow." She pointed a paw straight at him reproachfully. "I didn't want to believe it when they told me. And I can buy one coincidence."

Taking another step forward, she folded her arms. "But you and every one of your little cronies got outta that barn without even as much of a scratch, _and_ you happened to nab all of them on your own, _and_ Hopps here says you were seen talking to them?"

"Cool it, Belle. Don't you forget who helped make your family here in town."

"Is that a threat?" Another step closer.

"No, it's – Thumper, I swear…"

Another. "Then explain yourself."

"I'm warnin' you…"

Clover stood against the black-as-night backdrop of the tree line, the rabbit shrouded by its lack of illumination, but that did not stop Gideon from seeing the gun – another tranq shooter like Judy's, sure, but a gun nonetheless – produced from the constable's side.

It all happened fast. Clover was quick on the draw, but Gideon was quicker, reacting immediately by dashing forward himself, squinting through the night as he followed the trajectory of the gun and the path of its dart, intended specifically for Belle her ever-nearing figure.

A dumb move it was, thinking he could swat one of those things out of the air as though it were a basketball and he the player, rejecting it from its path to the basket. The best he could hope for was a quick flick of the wrist that might impact with its side, sending it sprawling off to – where, exactly? Toward another person? The sky? The ground?

Or it would hit him, but quite suddenly, Gideon did not care too much about being tranquilized, if it meant, for one moment, protecting the townsfolk he had hoped to impress, even when they would not consider reciprocation all the while.

Perhaps that was his one redeeming factor, his path to redemption, if he had one at all.

Someone shouted his name and a few other words, but he did not quite hear them fully – Judy? Belle? Clover? Gibberish, a foreign language to a half-diving fox with one arm outstretched in a mad, last-ditch effort to block the projectile's laser-like path.

He was just in time – he felt the tip of the needle snag within his shirt sleeve, and he expected he knew what would come next, a jab in his skin, just a little prick – before numbness fell over him , the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness preceding whatever grogginess might follow whenever he came to.

It took everything in him not to fall over in a heap despite the reckless abandon with which he lunged. Gideon stumbled wildly a few steps, his tail brushing against Belle—

The first thing he noticed: it was quiet.

Secondly: he neither felt a prick, nor pain, nor a stark loss of bodily function.

Multiple events transpired at once, like a cannonball set into breakneck motion, or many cannonballs at once, all spinning off in different directions.

There was Judy, a blur of gray fur as she sped toward Clover – or at least where Clover had been. The constable had turned on his heel and fled – how long had it taken him? Right after the shot was fired, perhaps? – into the forest. Some of his volunteers who had straddled him on either side remained, but only because a pair of them had been momentarily stunned by whomever they had been holding in their grasps, the masked figures who were, too, nowhere to be found.

A rush of animals had descended upon Gideon too, some shouting obscenities past him – there were children around, some hushed, but they did not seem to care – others grabbing to hold his arm, to see the damage, to help.

Following Judy, a few county officers, after commands barked by Perkins that Gideon could not discern, had taken off into the woods, while others made a beeline for the constable's underlings that remained out of sheer ignorance, marked surprise or otherwise.

Belle Thumper held one paw out in front of her face toward Gideon, but her way was very quickly blocked by the sudden, swarming onslaught of others rushing to the fox's aid, and in that moment, she could do nothing but stare.

And Gideon, well, he was shocked – and relieved – to find the dart, hanging in the crux of the wrist of his shirt sleeve, dangling by a thread, delicately, just narrowly missing fur.

xXxXxXx

Judy Hopps had played in the woods outside the big barn in town often as a child, sometimes alone, usually with siblings who liked to contest games of hide and seek, or perhaps even pretend they were the very adventurers who discovered the land that became Zootopia, climbing over a fallen tree as though it were a majestic hill that, on the other side, held the intrinsic beauty of what would become the city by the water, the greatest one any of them had ever known.

Though it had been years since she had done so, she was relying on whatever memories of those days still residing within the furthest reaches of her mind to find her way around that very forest, for she no longer had the lights of the festival to guide her, and the air around her was blackening by the moment.

But she was faster than Clover – she knew that much. And his path was not impossible to follow; in the distance she could hear the cracking of tree limbs, the labored grunts while dodging around a large trunk or through overgrown bushes. The bunny's ears were at attention, and even when she deviated slightly from his path, a noise undoubtedly uttered or caused by the constable would pull her back in.

She could hear others far behind her – likely the county cops, she surmised. Their larger frames would prove debilitating in this case, unable to squeeze through certain spaces two rabbits would have no problem clearing, but she knew their superior night vision and senses of smell would help them catch up eventually.

And that would be fine. Whatever got Skip Clover off the streets of Bunnyburrow.

Judy was closing in on him. Whatever speed Clover might have had in his youth had not fallen off completely, but his endurance certainly had, and it was leaving the rabbit at an alarming rate.

It was clear that he had realized this, for in an instant, Judy could no longer hear his heavy breathing or the snapping of a branch he stepped on. It was eerily quiet quite abruptly, save for the continuing sound of whomever was trailing them, but that was still quite a ways off in the distance.

The rabbit slowed to a crawling pace, crouched low, arms held out alongside her but paws up to protect from a sudden attack from the front. She sniffed the air. He was nearby, no question, but, squinting through the darkness, she could not figure out where. Her nose twitched.

 _Snap!_ The popping noise of something on the ground came suddenly, directly followed by the whizzing of a tranquilizer gun dart soaring through the air. It narrowly missed her right shoulder, and Judy instinctively pulled it in close.

"Come any closer and I won't miss next time."

Clover's voice was harsh and dull, grumbled in a discreet, gravelly tone. He was nearby, no doubt about it, but the rabbit's exact location had not quite revealed itself to Judy.

She peered into the night, her eyes like slits, and saw a large tree close by that seemed to line up with the route from where the dart had traveled. The trunk itself was big around enough that a rabbit would have no trouble being fully concealed behind it.

"I mean it," he seethed again. "You come around the corner and I'll hit ya point blank. Don't be stupid."

Judy let herself relax, keeping one paw on her own gun but otherwise allowing herself a few deep breaths to aid her own fatigue.

 _Once the others get here, he'll be cornered_ , she thought. _Just stall him_.

"All right," spat Judy. "Then talk."

"About what? How I never let you be a cop here in Bunnyburrow? You wanna start there, Miss Hopps?"

Judy snickered. "I'm well beyond that, Clover, and I'm well beyond _you_ , too. Dancing around the issue to get a rise out of me isn't going to work. Not today."

"Right. Then let's talk about how you've got nothing to pin me to any of this."

"I'll bet I do."

Surreptitiously, she reached into her pocket and clicked the carrot pen recorder.

"And you know what I think? I'll bet you're gonna tell me about all of it, too."

"You and what army?" Clover scoffed.

"No army. Just me. Judy Hopps, ZPD. We could start with how you framed Carl Pumaski."

A brief pause. "Barkin' up the wrong tree with that one—"

"Am I? Because it all finally clicked back at the schoolhouse tonight, after you or someone in your employ – who's all in on it, by the way? Oh, whatever, I'll find out soon enough – locked the county officers in the basement. Sloppy, by the way, Constable; there's a trail there starting with the sheep who asked them to move down there in the first place, and it leads straight back to your team.

"But when Edmond – yes, it was Edmond, he saw your rendezvous with Travis out by the barn – told me you were involved, or you at least had some kind of knowledge about it, it all made a little more sense. Do you remember the day the festival started? When Travis and his friends came in ready to cause some chaos after Pumaski's arrest?"

Judy heard something on the ground shift nearby, an arm or a leg joint cracking after being in one place for too long, but nothing more.

"He tried to tell me something," she continued, "and I wasn't sure what it was, but there were also his words to you – _him, though_. Remember? Those two words have been stuck in my head for the last two days, because why would he say them then? And why would he be so angry to begin with that a panther got locked away for a crime of theft?"

She grinned. "Because when you guys decided to team up to ruin the festival this year, you didn't tell him the blame would be pinned on a predator. In fact, I'll bet you assured him that even he and his friends would be kept out of the spotlight. What would cause them to compromise that? Because you pissed them off by framing a panther who's got a lot of friends in this community, predator or prey."

"This whole town suddenly has this weird affection for Carl," growled Clover finally. "The preds, the mayor, your parents. I don't get it. Criminals don't change."

"That's where you're wrong," Judy countered, steeling herself as the image of her best friend reached her mind. "They _can_. I've seen it. And Pumaski… he did something wrong, and I think I know what it was, but the worst thing he did to _you_ is come anywhere near your precious festival and your hosting duty." She folded her arms. "Admit it. You saw him as a threat. A threat over a reason to wear a tacky crown for a few days and to prance around in the center of attention all week. That's your job, not anyone else's."

"I do it better than anyone else. That's why the last grand marshal chose me specifically, after running things for 40 years, Hopps. 40 years." There was a haughtiness in the rabbit's voice as he regained some of the gusto lost after sprinting all that way.

"And letting anyone – especially a predator – come close to that was just unacceptable."

Clover snarled. "Look, we let them in this year. Ain't that enough? If anything, they should be _thanking_ me. Your friend Gideon Grey made five times the money he'd make at one of the pred markets, I reckon."

"Oh, I'm sure they'd be more than willing to kiss your feet… if you hadn't tried to get them banned. I'll bet you already had the draft written up and ready to be given to Mayor Cotton after this weekend was over, pointing to the theft, the issues with Travis before the festival, and now this tonight," she added, pointing with a paw back toward the barn. "Then not only is Pumaski out of the way, but you've got no one else who can follow behind him in a few years."

She pricked her ears. Someone else was nearby, approaching from the rear. _Perkins' team_ , she thought with a nod.

"But I do wonder how you got Travis involved in the first place. Travis, Amy, Mike, all of them. Why would they help out _you_?"

Judy heard him scoff. "Guess something still eludes you, eh?"

"Maybe. But I've got a guess. You've got power in this town, Clover, no one will doubt that. You can make a lot of things happen for Bunnyburrow… and you can make them go away, too. Gideon told me Travis mentioned something about, shoot, what'd he say, 'on-the-side sales'?" Judy was enjoying drawing this out by now, and in the back of her mind, she knew if she could snake the conversation down this path, she could get something quite telling from him. "I wonder, maybe the constable in town told his predator acquaintances he could make some charges go away if they worked together."

"Wrong. Their parents are the criminals."

 _Bingo_ , she thought.

"Oh, I know. I saw their records when I was at the county precinct the other day," she said, trying her best to keep the hint of triumph out of her voice. "I just wanted to get it straight from you."

She thought she could hear him standing, but could not be completely certain. The rabbit's paw curled around her tranquilizer again, just in case.

"I've got to hand it to you, Hopps," came Clover's voice from around the tree. "Your sleuthing skills aren't bad. Not bad at all. Maybe I shouldn't have passed over you all those years ago."

"No. No, you shouldn't have."

"I don't mean to deflect here, either, but you should have a good, long talk with that Travis fellow. None of this would've happened to begin with if he and his posse hadn't been so anti-prey. He went to just about every town meeting there for a while, trying to convince us not to let preds back in, telling his kind not to come."

Judy shrugged. "I've known that since elementary school. They don't trust us, and a lot of the prey in this town barely trust them either. But what I can't imagine is them going through this much trouble to show that without there being some sort of incentive. That's where your offer comes in, I bet."

She heard the noise again, now to her left. She squinted into the night but could not make out a figure – Perkins, his fellow cops or otherwise.

"What can I say? Some of these families in this town are so bogged down in legal trouble – I'm sure you know the type in Zootopia… eh, I shouldn't be telling you this, but who cares, the most loved rabbit in Bunnyburrow's word against yours, I'll bet I can spin this. Shoot, anyway, these families, they'll do whatever they can to get out of trouble, even if they can't seem to stay outta it in the first place. That ferret's folks? Scrapping some of that junk out there in their backyard for stuff other than cash. That coyote's family has been smuggling guns – and no, Judy, I don't mean the ones you and I are holding – into and out of Zootopia for years, getting caught on and off.

"Point is," he remarked, with a chuckle, "these preds, they're so dumb, so _helpless_ , they'll do anything, even if it's helping out a prey cop they've sworn to hate – then we might, you know, look the other way, keep the county off their tail. Like putty in your paws, Hopps. Putty in your paws."

What Judy had not expected next was a loud grunt – _oomph!_ – that came from Clover, and the smack of something impacting another, and then _there he was_ , the constable, stumbling out from behind the tree and stumbling to the ground.

He barely had the time to utter a quick, staccato "No!" before Judy pumped a dart into his arm.

The rabbit stood there, watching Skip Clover, his arm reached out toward her, lose consciousness. He was barely visible in the darkness; Judy clicked the pen, produced her cell phone and turned on its flashlight function.

She jumped when she saw one of the masked predators standing a few paces from Clover, watching the scene. Judy pulled her gun to a ready stance again, but she did not shoot – because the fox-like mask was being removed from the animal's face.

Travis stared back at her. He seemed surprisingly calm, breathing normally, just… _looking_ at her. Giving her a slow, curt nod.

A tree branch snapped behind her. Judy spun around, gun in one paw and phone in the other, the light passing over a few of the county cops, who had finally caught up to them.

By the time she turned back to the ferret, he was gone.

xXxXxXx

The barn was mostly cleared out. A dance would happen, but not that night – perhaps not even the next.

Gideon gripped in his paw one of the pens that the local cops often held to deter the effects of repellent – for foxes, general predators or otherwise. Luckily a multi-purpose spray had been used that evening, and its effect on prey animals was minimal if used only sparingly.

Except it had not been, though quick work from the remaining county officers and Gideon himself, who had been afforded an extra one when he insisted on helping out, had mitigated what could have otherwise been a gloomy end to the Fall Harvest Festival.

Most of the townsfolk had left already, but there were a few stragglers inside and out, most of whom had congregated in a far corner, stacking the folding chairs that had been laid out along the perimeter alongside larger bleachers. The small stage at the rear had been dismantled with the fox's help, though the microphone that stood atop it was still nearby and plugged in.

"Gideon, would you mind taking the mic stand back to the storage closet? Just follow the plug," Edmond, who carried a large cardboard box in his arms, requested as he walked by.

"Sure thing," the fox said with a wave of his paw. "Be right back."

The cord wrapped around the corner, past the small alcove behind the former position of the stage and into the back hallway, before trailing into the storage closet. Clutching the stand and taking care to avoid the mic falling out of its holder at the top, Gideon walked it back into the hallway, gripped the door handle and pulled it open, looking around for a light switch in the darkness, finding it near the door and clicking it on.

It was a dusty old room, practically archaic save for its fuse box and outlets in the back corner, with old posters, long-broken chairs, a few stacked tables and much more adorning the floor and lining the walls. The ceiling shook whenever passersby on the above mezzanine walked across, sending more dust billowing into the tiny room.

Humming to himself as he unplugged the microphone cord from the outlet and began to wrap it around itself into a secure loop, he mistook the creaking he heard behind him for the groan of the floorboards above him. The shifting of a few old poster boards finally piqued his interest. Curious, he turned around slowly, still humming that tune and coiling the cord.

He and the figure's eyes – well, where its eyes _would_ be, if they had not been obscured by and sunken into the vulpine mask it wore – met only briefly before it grabbed one of the tables stacked nearby and tossed it onto the ground between them, the circular stand wobbling and rolling in front of Gideon as he watched the dark-robed figure, which was about his size, flee into the hallway.

"Wait!"

The fox leaped over the still-spinning table, tossing his head to his left. The figure was rounding another corner, this one leading outside. Though its disguise was clearly designed to hide any indication of what lay beneath, it no longer quite concealed the tip of a fox tail protruding from its rear.

That was all Gideon needed to see. He tore after the fox, careening around the corner as well into the warm night, quiet now after the chaos of the day.

He dashed out into the back parking lot but saw nothing, no one. But his ears perked up as the sound of running came from behind, and the fox barely had enough time to turn halfway around before the same robed figure tackled him at the waist, knocking both of them to the ground.

Gideon grunted and bared his teeth in a grimace, his paws reaching wildly for something to grab onto – and finding it with the pointed mask, to which he clung as he rolled onto the ground, the other fox atop him.

"Ergh… gerroff…" he growled through clenched jaws, and began to pull at the mask, finding that, like most, it was secured by elastic bands around the head, stretching, lengthening, elongated to its breaking point—

With a soundly _snap!_ , the mask was ripped off, the force knocking back Gideon's paw into his own face, and when he finished blinking through the pain, he glared back into the emerald eyes of Mike Robins.

He had little time to react; the other fox landed a hefty blow against his face and was rearing up for another. But Gideon had experienced his share of such spats in his younger days – in fact, plenty of them were friendly tussles with Mike himself – and was quick to block the next shot, gripping Mike's elbow and, in a quick motion that started with splaying both his legs and wrapping them around the fox's back, flipping over, overpowering Mike mostly on sheer surprise.

Once he was on top of the fox, Gideon pinned his shoulders to the blacktop with his paws, straddling him with his legs to keep him from performing the same move.

"Knew you'd be behind this," snarled Gideon, teeth still bared. "Travis, I can understand. You, even more so."

The fox said nothing, opting to rear back and spit on Gideon's snout. He let the saliva drip off, slowly, back onto Mike.

"You know why?" Mike grumbled back after jerking his limbs a few times in an escape attempt. "'Cause I can't stand preds who turn on their own."

"Right. Sure. That's what happened here."

"Sure is. Been goin' on for years. You left us after high school without barely a word. Then these prey folk, they let us into their lil festival without so much as an _apology_ for keepin' us out to begin with, expectin' things to be just fine? You said it yourself when you were hangin' with us, Grey – they do that every year, it's always somethin', but they don't wanna apologize for it, make things right. They'd sooner just act like all those years of prejudice ain't never even happened."

His lip curled, teeth gritted. "And you enable 'em. You get to be the mayor's lil poster fox for it this year, sellin' alongside all the prey. Well, forgive me if we ain't all on board with the idea, _friend_."

"You act like we're the only ones who ever had it bad 'round here, Mike," insisted Gideon, strengthening the pressure on the fox's shoulders as much as he possibly could. "Belle Thumper's dad _hurt_ her because she had the inkling to like one of us back in school. Just _like_! Innocent! Completely innocent."

"If that's the worst thing that ever happened to that little tramp, I'm fine with that." He coughed. "I'd've never dreamed of it anyway, me and her. Like, you serious? I'd hold paws with you before I touched that—"

Gideon reared back for another smack, but it was the wrong move; Mike saw his opening and yanked his shoulder from the fox's clutches, blocking the punch with a paw and elbowing Gideon in the face. He yelped, reflexively reaching up to feel his wound, which was enough for Mike to shove his chest with both paws, knocking Gideon off him.

It was Mike's turn to leap atop Gideon, but he opted instead of going for a frontal approach to force the fox's head down against the blacktop, climbing onto his back. Gideon thrust his head to the side, his left cheek smashing against the smooth surface, grunting as he collided with it.

"Soft, Grey. Yer soft. You fit in well with that prey you call friends now, that's for darn sure." He chuckled. "'Course, this reminds me of somethin'. Real recent. Oh, right, that's it – the other night, before I knocked ya out cold. Took out two foxes that night – two mangy, prey-lovin' foxes. Best I've felt in a while."

Gideon's mind flashed to Nick, and then to Mike's truck and its front dent.

"Don't matter to me that you know that, by the way," added the fox with a laugh. "The idiot was walking on a country road in the middle of the night. That's all Clover's jurisdiction, and if he can get us out of what he says he's gonna, that should be a cakewalk for him."

"I think that'll be the least of your problems after tonight, once Judy catches him—"

"Let her. We both know this town's so broken, it's not gonna let its golden boy constable go down without a fight. He's got friends here, friends in the county. You and I both know this doesn't end here tonight."

"It does for you."

Mike was off Gideon's back instantly, stumbling over the fox's horizontal body to face the direction from which the voice had been emitted – and then, saw Gideon, turned to run, but not before a tranquilizer dart burrowed itself into his back, knocking him to the ground once more.

Gideon had not yet picked himself off the ground by the time a trio of county officers surrounded Mike, ensuring he was cuffed and removing the dart from his back. He was still stricken by the voice, and who it belonged to, thinking of whether or not he could face her.

Finally, Belle Thumper walked by Gideon just as he sat up, the rabbit stopping to watch the coyotes straighten up Mike and prepare to drag him off to a squad car.

She spoke just once, but it was all either of them needed to hear.

"Consider us even."

xXxXxXx

It was not an ideal situation Stu and Bonnie Hopps shared that day, and certainly not one they would have ever expected. Their roles on the planning committee for the Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival were just that: as planners, helpers, behind-the-scenes presences, with an emphasis on the latter. They had their own stall to run, after all, and it was understood that the pair of rabbits would be there most of the time, except for perhaps a cameo during opening or closing ceremonies, but little else. Stu could get weird in front of large crowds. His doctor advised against it.

But things change, even in the course of a few days, and there they were on stage at the festival's closing ceremonies – Bonnie initially more for moral support, but she ended up taking up the mantle when Stu went on a long rant about the weather that spun into a debate about whether or not the carrot-farming season had been good to them that year, and that was just not something anyone needed to hear.

Bonnie smiled and rolled with the punches anyway, guiding her husband back on course while providing sincere thanks from the committee that were scrawled onto a piece of notebook paper she held in her paw, since she had had just six hours in between learning she would be helming the ceremonies and actual showtime, and that was hardly enough for full memorization.

Not that anyone would blame them for the slightly awkward, if not lovably endearing display – "All right, Stu, the biggest pumpkin contest winner, you've got the envelope, honey, let's go" – since it provided the few belly laughs the community needed that day, in the wake of the chaos of the barn dance the night before as well as the general frustrations of a week that was supposed to have been nothing short of a swell time.

Mayor Cotton watched from the side of the stage, laughing and clapping along with the rest of the crowd. One could be fairly certain she was watching the Hopps couple to see how they did for future reference, since she had never thought of herself as much of an entertainer, but she would not make any decisions for a while – after all, they had another year to plan, and the Carrot Days festival was quickly approaching anyway.

Judy Hopps watched from afar, her arms crossed not disapprovingly but ingenuously, laughing a few times in spite of herself at her father's ineptitude in front of a crowd and her mother's measured, careful attempts to guide him to his objective.

"Shouldn't have fired the old guy."

The rabbit looked up and grinned. "Mr. Pumaski. Officer Perkins said you'd be out today, but I didn't expect to see you here."

Carl Pumaski no longer donned the black suit in which he was most often seen or the orange jumpsuit he wore when Judy last saw him at the county jail, opting instead for a tight white dress shirt and khakis, his eyes hidden behind face-hugging sunglasses, which he raised to allow a quick glance and wink at the rabbit.

"I wasn't gonna. But the more I talked it over with my wife… I thought I should come here to… to thank you, at least."

Judy unfolded her arms and rested her paws on her hips. "I'm just doing my job, sir."

"You did. Even when you had absolutely no reason to."

"I dunno about that…"

The panther sniffed and laid the sunglasses back down over his eyes. "Look, Hopps, I get it, the whole good-cop thing, I don't doubt that for a second, coming from someone who was raised by Stu and Bonnie." He glanced over the festival, at the white tents that waved in the breeze, the cackling children running and playing on the lawn, the attentive crowd that watched two rabbits stumble through an award presentation. "But anyone else here, I'll bet, would have taken Skip Clover's word when he told them I stole all that stuff – shoot, the _county_ did, and all they had to go off was that Clover and his goons found the goods in my home and business.

"Look, I'll admit, that's damning; I don't know if even I would have questioned it if it had been anyone else but me," he said with a shrug. "But you followed through. You saw the cracks in the surface. You _cared_ , Hopps. And my family can't thank you enough for that."

Judy caught herself blushing, but she steeled herself against the praise when a question came to her mind. "So that day, when you were snooping around the festival beforehand. What _were_ you doing here?"

"Wasn't it obvious? I wanted Clover to fail. Hopps, I wanted him to fail so hard. I don't even know why, exactly. I – I don't _want_ his job, I didn't then and I really don't now. All I wanted was fair representation for my kind at this festival; your parents are great but, face it, they aren't one of the cool cats like me." He flashed a grin. "Anyway, I… well, I was seeing how preparations were going and thought, look, maybe if something was on its way to being broken, or if chaos was near, I'd… help the natural order of things along, you know?"

He sighed. "It was silly. I regretted it as soon as I got home that night. And I never found anything, either – I don't know how much of Clover's crew was in on all of this, but it couldn't be all of them, and I gotta tell you, they seemed to do a fantastic job of setup and planning, except for the whole… well, pretty much the entire preds thing, but hey, I don't expect a bunch of rabbits to know what's best for us. Do you?"

Judy cocked her head. "So… you just wanted on the committee to be the voice of the predators? That's it?"

The panther said nothing at first, instead glancing over the festival grounds from their vantage point near the entrance, down the thoroughfare where Judy and Nick had watched from a few days before at the opening ceremonies. He reached a paw into his pocket. "Well… I suppose there was one other thing."

He produced a small card-like object from his wallet, studied it for a few moments and then passed it to Judy. "You know what this is?"

Judy realized it was a small photograph. She handled it delicately from the panther's large paw, squinting her eyes as she looked the image of a young cat, a wide smile stretching across his face, holding an ice cream cone in his paw. Behind him stretched a sea of neon lights, seemingly twinkling, though the rabbit could not be so sure. There were balloons, skeeball, even – Nick would have appreciated this – a dunk tank…

"It's a pretty festival," the rabbit remarked, handing the photo back to Pumaski, who tucked it back into his wallet.

"It was a block party. I lived in the sticks in Zootopia – Rainforest District, but the outskirts of that even. You probably know that by now, what with my… less-than-stellar past when I was younger."

"It might have come up."

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, got into some mighty tight spots back then, did some things I shouldn't've – all in the past, the very distant past. But I was some wide-eyed kid once, too – we all were, eh? I've seen the photo at your parents' home – the one at the top of the stairs, when you were a young one, at that other festival, Carrot Days, the sunflower dress. Bonnie said you loved it."

Judy grinned warmly. "It was my favorite. I cried the day I grew out of it."

"Well, I loved those block parties, the one in my picture. Favorite thing to visit until my teenage years and I got all surly, as one does. Hopps, I'll tell ya, I'd look forward to those parties all year round. The parties, the street fairs, the whole shebang."

His brow furrowed as he stuck his wallet back into his pocket. "My kids, my boys, they never got to experience that. Not that they've had a rough life without it, don't get me wrong. I suppose I just wanted to give them a taste of home…"

"So you wanted to try to reproduce the fairs from when you were a kid."

"I suppose that's the succinct way of saying it, Hopps. You mind if I get your email? Could use you for writing my ad campaigns," he chortled.

They stood a little while longer. Stu and Bonnie were still on stage, but Judy could tell the ceremony was winding down. A few more hours of the festival would follow – last-minute purchases, games and the like – and then they would head home. A replacement barn dance was tentatively scheduled for late fall, but her parents, Mayor Cotton and others would convene a short time later to determine its plausibility in the face of all that had happened.

"I met my wife at one of those fairs," Pumaski said finally.

"Oh?"

The panther glanced down at Judy and smiled. "Yeah. We were kids. Little things. She lived halfway across town and I only really got to see her then. But when I did… Hopps, she lit up the place even more than the bright, blinking lights ever could."

He cleared his throat, coughed, then continued, "Even when I was… doing stuff I shouldn't've when I was older, I never lost track of her. Never stopped thinking maybe, just maybe, if circumstances were different, things could work out between us. I went back to one of the fairs a little after I got clean and there she was, still, after all those years, never left town like I worried she might. Bought her a drink and a cotton candy immediately. Barely even had the money, but she was worth it.

"I guess that's what we do, you know? We find the folks who are worth it through all the other stuff, the flowers among the weeds. You got someone like that, Hopps? Well, I don't know if you do or you don't, but if and when you do, don't lose sight of 'em, you got that?"

Before Judy could respond that, yes, she indeed had someone in mind, they were interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling up nearby.

Gideon tossed his delivery van into park and stepped out of the truck, in mid-conversation with whoever was in the passenger seat. Both Colt Grey and Aaron Longfellow emerged from around the hood of the truck, the rabbit talking animatedly while the younger fox simply stared and grinned.

"That's my ride," Judy said with a smile. "Mr. Pumaski, it was a pleasure to speak with you."

The panther nodded solemnly. "Good day, Hopps."

"Judy!" Aaron exclaimed when he saw the rabbit approach. "Judy, c'mon, tell Gid my idea for the name of our business is _far_ better than what he's got going on right now."

" _Your_ business?" she asked candidly. "So, Gideon, you accepted his offer after all."

The fox shrugged as he shut the truck door. "I'm terrible at marketing. Awful, just awful. But I ain't callin' the place 'Humble Pie by Gideon.' No way, no how."

Judy smirked. "Sounds like something in Zootopia's trendier districts. Aaron, you know who you're selling to, right?"

"Don't give me that, Judy. You know he spelled his own name wrong on half his branding, right? G-r-a-y? Not G-r-e-y? I mean…"

"Fine, you spell ev'rything from here on out, but y'ain't changin' the name—"

Colt sidled up to Judy while the fox and rabbit continued to argue. "Bickering like an old married couple already," he remarked, taking a swig of a soda. "Hey, didn't you and the rabbit date?"

"Oooookay, let's get going, Gid. You all packed up?" Judy announced, changing the subject.

Gideon blinked. "Oh. Right. Yeah, Gideon Grey's _Real Good Baked Stuff_ ," he emphasized, "is all packed up and done for the year. Sold out of all my stock this morning. Aaron here just asked for a ride over here and to talk my ear of a little more, I reckon."

"Don't think you're getting outta this so easily. We need to talk about a lot of things, my friend, lots of things. How's your Tuesday looking?" Aaron was persistent.

Sighing, Gideon checked his phone. "I dunno. Stop by the house in the mornin'. I'll brew some coffee."

"It's a date." He turned to Judy. "Speaking of, Miss Hopps, if you come back to town single again, I can't promise what I'll do in your parents' front lawn, but I can promise it'll involve a radio and some of our old favorites."

The rabbit cop stifled a laugh behind a paw. "Aaron, always a pleasure."

"Judy." He took her paw, gave it a quick peck, waved and walked away.

After watching him go: "Again, appreciate the ride, Gid. Avery's watching my parents' booth while they stumble through this closing ceremony. And I just… I haven't slept since yesterday."

It was almost true. Everything was a blur for the rabbit after she darted and subdued Constable Clover, traveling from place to place, debriefing to debriefing, while more and more information surfaced – including Gideon and Mike's tussle behind the barn. The cleanup was swift, her statements many, and before she knew it, it was morning again, and the festival, at the mayor's blessing, was back on for its final day. An hour's nap in Mayor Cotton's office around 7 a.m. was her only respite.

The fox jerked his head back toward his van. "Well, let's get a move-on, then. Colt and I are gonna unload our stuff back home, and then I'll probably sleep until Aaron comes over in a few days. Can't wait."

His younger brother rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's right, you don't have school tomorrow."

"Colt, if there was any day ya deserved a day to play hooky, it's tomorrow," Gideon said, climbing into the driver's seat of his van. "Thanks for lookin' after the booth when I wasn't around."

"Buy me something with all that cash I brought in this weekend and we're even," countered the fox, sliding into the middle seat of the truck while Judy clambered in behind him. "Or pay for my ticket into Zootopia. I've always wanted to visit." He glanced over at Judy. "By the way, when I come, I'm crashing on your floor. Just warning you."

Gideon smiled as he started up the truck and pulled away across the parking lot and onto the main road. "Maybe I'll come out too. Meet a nice vixen, bring 'er back to Judy's place, ravage her couch…"

His passengers both spoke at once – "Like you'd manage one of those Zootopia vixens," Colt argued; "Like my apartment has a couch," deadpanned Judy.

It was not until they started down the road, Judy leaving Bunnyburrow proper for the first time in over a day, that she began to realize what, exactly, she was coming home to.

She knew Nick was awake more often because she had received his texts, though she had little time to look at or even respond to them. There were a few asks about the case – understandable, sure – but the rest were simple updates about the most menial, mundane of things around Zootopia, like how Finnick had made $300 in one hour on Friday, or about the closing of one of their favorite diners in Tundra Town.

And it was not that she wanted to avoid the texts, or to avoid Nick at all, it was simply that Judy had not yet formulated what she wanted to say. After all, the bunny had often thought about their last moment spent together before the accident, running the series of events over and over again in her head, as though it were a repeat viewing of a favorite film – except she quite hated this one and only watched it to remind herself of how much she could have done differently.

The case had allowed her mind to focus like a laser on something else, and if she was grateful for her job at all that weekend, it was for that side-effect, thrusting Nick from her mind as much as possible, even though once she was back home, she could not avoid the feelings, rushing back like a dam had just been opened, its contents letting loose over its path and flowing precipitously through anything in its way.

But now that Clover was caught and Travis and his gang apprehended – he had come quietly after Clover was darted, and after his help in the capture to begin with, Judy made sure her fellow officers treated him gently, though she did not know what was in store for him now, especially after admitting that, despite helping Clover, he still had his concerns about predators and prey at a festival together – she felt she could reassert her energy on the relationship she had with her partner, whatever it was.

The truck slowed to a crawl. The Hopps farmstead was in sight.

"Thanks, Gid. Let me out here. I'll walk."

"Sure thing, Judy. Yer leavin' tomorrow?"

"Chief Bogo gave me the day off tomorrow. I wasn't supposed to get it, but with Nick the way he is, he wanted to be sure he was able to come back on the train, and he wanted me there with him. Grandma and Grandpa say he should be good to go."

"Swell. I'll have to stop by, see y'all off. I like that fox. Maybe more'n you."

He flashed a toothy grin. "Naw, that's impossible, on second thought."

"I'll come up with a better retort when I'm not so tired."

"'Course ya will. Go, get some sleep."

A few moments later, Judy was in the kitchen of her childhood home, hugging her grandparents, both of whom she had not seen nearly as much as she would have liked that weekend, while her brothers and sisters gathered around. It seemed like every one of them had a question about what had happened, about the case – her grandparents had kept on the news all weekend, so they were already keenly aware of much of the basic details, but they wanted to know more.

Except, unlike her siblings, her grandparents were patient and knew there would be time for discussion, revelations, whatever tales Judy wanted to tell about her experience. Slowly but surely, they led her away from the teeming mass of small bunnies allowing her to escape to the staircase.

"He should be awake," her grandfather said with a warm smile. "Shake him if he isn't. He's got a dosage coming up in a half hour."

"Thanks, Grandma, Grandpa. I'll be down soon." She dashed up the stairs as fast as her little legs would carry her.

The door to the room in which Nick was staying was cracked slightly. Judy curled her paws around the side of it, pushing slowly, doing her best not to startle the fox if he was awake.

A thin sound of hushed music greeted her when she entered - Talking Hares, no question about it.

He was sitting up in bed, thumbing through something on his phone. He only shifted his gaze to the entering bunny briefly at first, seemingly regarding her as just another rabbit in a house full of them, before returning to whatever was on his screen.

"Hey, stranger," she started delicately, slowly closing the door behind her. "Fancy seeing—"

" _Wrap your arms around one another, draw them close_ ," Nick recited, still keeping his phone in front of his snout. " _Because no matter where we go or who we know, you'll stand tall with a Hopps by your side._ "

He set down the phone on the night table beside his bed. "I couldn't remember the first part. I only wrote down the part I could remember into my phone."

"Cheese and crackers, my grandparents brainwashed you, didn't they?"

"Judith, unshackle me from this bed, for I must haul in the carrot crop before sundown."

The rabbit smiled, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "Are you feeling better, or are those the painkillers?"

Nick leaned back against his pillow. "Am I allowed to answer yes to both?"

"As long as you're okay to head back to Zootopia tomorrow. Bogo gave me the day off tomorrow, but…"

"I'm fine, Carrots. Fine enough to take a train, at least. Though the longer we stay here, the longer I can avoid all the desk work Chief's gonna give me whenever I'm good enough to return to work."

"Oh, you poor thing, you might have to fill out paperwork for once."

The fox grinned widely, arms and paws behind his head. "I missed this."

"…me too."

After a few moments' silence: "Oh. We caught the guy who hit you."

"Get out!"

"Yeah. It was Mike Robins, Travis' fox friend. Remember him?"

"Fox-on-fox hit-and-run. Who'd've thunk it?" asked Nick, propping himself up on his elbows.

Judy laughed. "Hey, it got you out of work. Your favorite thing."

"Hippity Hopps with the sick burns today. Have you been saving these up while I've been unconscious? Because that's not fair, it's not like I could subconsciously think of retorts."

Yawning, the rabbit waved a paw dismissively. "Whatever, Slick. Think of a few quickly before I pass out on this bed from lack of sleep."

"Oh, I've got a few. You ready?"

"Lay 'em on me."

For the first time Judy had seen since the accident, Nick got out of bed and stood. This was nothing new to the fox, who had been taking bathroom breaks alone and walking down to meals since the day before, but Judy was delighted to see the scene nonetheless – even if it was accompanied by the ever-present bandages and gauze around his waist that betrayed his injuries.

"All right, Judes, you caught me," the fox said as he walked, with the slightest of limps, over to her, stopping when he was beside her. He sat down on the bed, leaning back with his paws propping him up. "I've got nothing else, no retorts, no clever one-liners. But you know what? I don't need them, because I've got something better."

"Oh?"

He took her paw. "Judy, I—"

"I was stupid."

Nick cocked his head at the interruption. "Well, I wasn't gonna say _that_ , but…"

"No, Nick. I was. Like, really, really stupid. I shouldn't have kissed you."

"Ah… I see…" the fox could not hide his crestfallen look.

"Because it wasn't the right place or time to do it. It should have been here, at home, surrounded by the people whose opinions I actually care about, not in some mayor's office in Bunnyburrow."

She looked down at the paw he still held and caressed it lightly. "And I shouldn't have said afterward that I didn't want to talk about it. Because I was confused – oh, wow, Nick, I was _confused_ – but that wasn't fair to you to word things that way. I've regretted it ever since." 

"We had the case. I get it."

"But Nick, gosh, what if that truck had… what if Mike had… I can't imagine having left things there."

"I'd've come back to haunt you as a ghost. No big."

She lightly punched Nick's good side.

"Don't hit the cripple, Officer. Is it my turn yet?"

"Oh, sure."

"You're sure this time." Nick smiled slyly. 

"Go before I change my mind." With a yawn, the rabbit burrowed her head against his shoulder.

"Okay, then listen, Carrots: I've been thinking of saying all this for a long time before this week, but I… well, FInnick says it's love—"

"He is the guru of love, that guy."

"—but I don't know. I mean, like, I'm not saying _no_ , but I just don't know if I want to put a label on it yet. I do know, Judy Hopps, that I love you as a friend, as a partner – I haven't doubted that for a long time. But beyond that, I… you make me feel whole, Carrots. Like I matter. And the feeling I have when I'm with you, it's the greatest high in the world."

Judy looked up at the fox. "Even though I'm a bunny?"

"What? Yes, _of course_ , even though you're a bunny. You think I don't realize that? You, Hopps, are the bunniest bunny I've ever met. And it wouldn't matter if you were a badger, a rat, another fox: I'd feel the same each and every time. I'd want to take you out on a date – I don't know where yet, don't pressure me – or I'd want to sit at home, watch a bad movie, laugh about it, cuddle, oh gosh, what am I even saying anymore, this wasn't part of the plan, please stop me, put me out of my misery, Carrots—"

Giggling, Judy reached up a paw and closed Nick's muzzle with it.

"I can't promise my folks won't be weirded out about it."

"You kidding? I think your dad already thinks we're dating."

"And back home, the force…"

Nick laughed jovially. "If they don't have a bet on us and when we'd get together, I'd be shocked."

"All I'm saying is that it's probably not going to be the easiest, and I don't know what this is or where it's going to go, but…" She glanced up at him, smiling. "I'm excited to see where it takes us."

Tentatively, Nick planted a small kiss on the rabbit's forehead.

"Whatever you want."

xXxXxXx

All the windows in Gideon's home had finally been replaced, and he was glad for that; though the leftover heat from summer still loomed that weekend, the throes of fall were around the corner, and there would be a leaf-rattling breeze very soon in its place, certainly not prime weather for a draft.

He had not slept well because of it – well, _partially_ because of it, since he had plenty more on his mind over the previous few days that also delayed sleep. But now, with his home seeming right again and the threat of an intrusion far, far away all of a sudden, he could only imagine the lengthy nap he was about to undergo.

It would give him a chance to escape from a steady stream of messages his cell phone had been receiving that day; once his final pies were vended and he and Colt closed up shop, his younger brother had the foresight to pass out Gideon's personal email and phone number for additional orders. It seemed as though he was receiving a new one every 20 minutes, sometimes from repeat customers who decided, on second thought, give me more when you can – I'll pay extra.

His mother was, of course, proud and happy to see him when he came home, with his dad and grandpa also offering congratulations in their usual, quieter ways. The fox was forced to tell them what he knew about the arrests the night before, about Clover and Travis and everyone else involved. He could only explain what he knew, that a trial was forthcoming, and that public opinion had shifted quite suddenly with one selfless act of a very brave fox – that was him, by the way, he told them, blushing – who most had written off previously as a no-good predator with a temper.

And maybe it was true, perhaps he had a temper, anger issues, whatever they might have been from childhood. One pie order came from a pig who happened to have been in The Icy Koala the day he snapped on Travis, and she said she could recommend some great books written for animals – predators, prey, everyone – who sometimes felt the way he reacted that day, some of which she had in her possession and could drop by the coffee shop; she would talk to the owner, Sheila, and work things out, no worries. It was nothing to be ashamed of, she said, and it was not because he was a fox, either. Just read the books, do the exercise. Also yoga. Lots of yoga. (He had not yet decided if he would take up the latter.)

Gideon smiled as he thumbed through the messages, seeing the well-wishes alongside a flurry of new orders. He had made more money that weekend than he had seen in quite some time, and more would soon be flowing in – after he got around to baking some more, of course. A day's rest would have to come first. Maybe two. Heck, why not three?

But the biggest surprise at all came when he checked his computer at Colt's behest, reminding him that even more may have come via email.

As it turned out, the brunt was through text, but there was one new message in his inbox.

He recognized the address immediately, read the full email and, though his mind raced a mile a minute, old anxieties flaring up in the back of his mind, he allowed himself to smile.

It was 133 Whitehare Lane. The address of the Thumpers. And it was for four pies. Cherry. And a carrot cake, please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, first and foremost, it occurs to me that this is the first multi-chapter fanfic I've actually finished in eight years. And it took me only five months to do it! I'm sure some folks'll scoff at that, but this is literally the only thing for which I'll pat myself on the back. 
> 
> As such, it's a weird feeling. Having not finished a story in so long, I have to admit that it was a struggle to get through the last few chapters. I always had an idea of where the story was going at every turn, but I think finishing a story is, frankly, a whole other skill entirely and certainly one where I'm inexperienced. Trying to tie up loose ends while providing a climax I can actually feel proud of is tough, y'all! Hence the large amount of rewrites over the last two chapters as well as the month-long break this one took before today.
> 
> But hey, it happened! It's far from perfect, but I'm proud of it anyway. For now. Get back to me in a week or two when I reread the whole story and suddenly hate everything, LOL. I could probably do a 20-part podcast on all the things I'd've done differently -- eh, I think I started to second guess myself around the two-thirds point, if I'm being honest. (There were some incredibly valid criticisms of the story leveled here and on some other sites, and I can't say I disagree with them in hindsight.)
> 
> In the meantime, from the bottom of my heart, thanks to everyone who followed along, favorited, left reviews, talked about it online, posted it on Reddit or 4chan or wherever, as well as to the staff of the Zootopia News Network, who thought it was good enough to be featured on their website. I go into writing expecting to get maybe, I dunno, a review a chapter? So I was blown away that more than like two people even knew what it was, and if you've spoken to me online or in person (what up, Zootopia meetup in Connecticut last month, lol), you know that to be incredibly true. 
> 
> I'm looking forward to taking a break where I DON'T have to worry about writing for a bit, finally catching up with the backlog of Zootopia stories I've been meaning to read for ages. But I'll be back. Already know the next one, in fact. 
> 
> THANKS AGAIN ALL OF YOU ROCK WHETHER YOU READ AND LIKED IT OR HATED IDC JUST THANKS FOR GIVING ME A SHOT <3


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